


Everybody Dances at Weddings

by AnnaBolena



Series: 5 + 1 Weddings [3]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, 19th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternative Universe - Office, And also awkward dates, Developing Relationship, I'm back, M/M, Multi, Other, With more historical facts tm, find out and see, full of sexual tension, will it be resolved?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-03 18:39:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15824670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaBolena/pseuds/AnnaBolena
Summary: "Are you still sleeping with Gilbert?" It blurts out of Thomas, who can’t stand the lack of conversation right now. It awakens fears in him that Alexander might be regretting giving this whole thing a chance in the first place."Uh," says Alex, intelligently."It’s okay if you are," Thomas hastens to add, "We haven’t talked about what this is yet, we haven’t talked about exclusivity-"a.k.a. Alex and Thomas give dating a try, secretly, like sneaky boys.





	1. It's time to take a shot.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> handsome boi thinks a lot about his co-worker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh lord, what am I doing? Am I really already publishing part III? I am. I am indeed.  
> Thank you all for the incredible feedback I've been getting for parts I& II.  
> If you haven't read those two as you stumble upon this one, you might want to catch up on those first or you'll miss a lot of iconic tm moments. 
> 
> That said, pls enjoy

Thomas has been back with W&A Insurance for over a year now, and this marks the first meeting that George Washington does not sit on his imposing black chair at the head of the table. Instead, when Thomas enters the break room with Angelica Church, talking idly about what she and her husband did over the weekend – sexy twister, apparently, which is very inspiring indeed – and what Thomas has planned for the upcoming one, namely a nice date of his own, both of them come up short. John Adams is sitting in Washington’s chair, typing away on his moderately outdated blackberry with clumsy fingers. (Peggy once said that his autocorrect deserves a pay raise for reliably putting up with all that work, because somehow his texts and e-mails all come out impeccable.)

"I called this meeting ten minutes ago," Adams huffs, when he looks up from his phone. So far the only one joining him in the room is Edmund Randolph, Head of their Legal department and part-time gambling aficionado. That is to say he enjoys making wagers about his coworkers and Thomas is fairly certain he still owes Hamilton not a small amount of money from about a year ago. Maybe Hamilton is just too good of a person to collect what he is owed.

Speaking of, said man saunters into the office and, unlike everyone else, doesn’t bat an eye when he sees Adams in Washington’s place. No, the man’s face is carefully controlled – a very deliberate effort – as he takes a seat. His assistant, Oliver Wolcott Jr., trails behind him with an actual notepad, nervously fiddling with his thick-framed glasses. Alexander doesn’t look at him at all, and Thomas fights down unreasonable disappointment. He’s not very good at it.

It takes a couple of more minutes until eventually everyone finds their place, during which Hamilton asks Randolph about a hypothetical legal situation and Randolph delights in pointing out various instances in which conflicting paragraphs would lead to different outcomes. Thomas has witnessed this before. Alexander Hamilton, after working himself raw at the office, goes home and engages in questionable amounts of self-education. Two days ago Thomas saw him reading the US Constitution during his lunch break. Thomas reads a lot as well, but most days that amounts to fiction. He used to get really into political theory when he was younger, but these days he tends to read to unwind and that is just easier with the classics.

(That said, he has tried to get into reading about finance, clandestinely asking Lafayette what their temporary roommate has on his shelves on the matter and ordering various titles for his perusal. Currently he is struggling with the borderline ancient Universal Dictionary of Trade and Commerce by Malachy Postlethwayt.)

"Are we just about ready then?" Asks Adams, impatiently. Reluctantly the room falls silent and gives the floor to him.

"Mr. Washington’s doctor prescribed a vacation, so he is taking about two months off for his health. In the meantime, we’re all going to have to pick up some slack to keep things running smoothly. Who has questions?"

Nobody speaks up, and it makes Thomas wonder why Washington didn’t feel the need to inform anyone of this admittedly momentous decision. It isn’t like the man to just spring news on his subordinates. Usually he is genial enough to at least inform them that a choice is being considered.

"In that case, Mr. Randolph, you’re presenting."

Edmund sets down his coffee, by far the best in the office due to a private coffee machine, and levels Adams with a look Thomas can’t interpret. It looks far from pleasant, though. He spends five minutes outlining changes made to the insurance contracts their clients sell, to assure the company doesn’t suffer from increased liability in sometimes inevitable court cases.

What is nice about Edmund’s presentations is that he keeps them short and comprehensive. Unlike a certain Head of Finance, he explains the technical terms that are necessary and doesn’t delve into painfully detailed spirals of thought, flooding his listeners with a flood of facts and terms they can never hope to understand. Although Thomas has to admit that, in beginning to catch up on his highlighted gap of knowledge in finance he has gained something of an advantage. Somewhat off-putting is the fact that Hamilton reveals himself to actually be profoundly knowledgeable and not just using various technical terms to intimidate his detractors into going along with his plans.

(Thomas would never deny the man his laurels of intelligence, but he’d still been surprised by the true extent of his suppository of expertise.)

Edmund finishes, but Adams doesn’t thank him for it like a polite boss might. Instead, he glares at Edmund and says: "That isn’t what I asked you to present."

"You’re right, Mr. Adams, but this is me doing my job and not indulging your irrational desire to needlessly warn your most high-up employees that spiking your coffee will ‘have consequences in the end’."

Air quotes are implied heavily by his tone of voice. The room collectively gears up for another fight. The last year has made them experts at anticipating those, no small thanks for that going to Alexander and Thomas.

"I asked you to look into the legality of firing someone who was blatantly disrespectful and potentially dangerous to a superior."

"You did," Edmund agrees, nodding, "And back when you did I told you that those in the group you suspected have temporary contracts which must run their course. They can be suspended from work, and you can refuse to rehire them, but you can’t fire them. Then I referred you to HR, which deals with internal issues. Will you not be satisfied with that?"

Adams’ fists clench for a second, and his glare is dismissive.

"Look, Mr. Adams, I want to do my job, that’s all. I don’t have the time to explain things any legal intern could tell you about such contracts."

Adam’s glare turns even colder. Edmund closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and sits down.

+

Thomas sits in his office, reviewing proposals for new campaigns from various sources. Most of it he finds uninspired, and briefly he considers that whatever he does will never lastingly impact the way this department runs itself. It’s not a very rousing thought, to say the least.

In the end, he pens a few notes to his staff members to confer with I.T. about website maintenance, and signs off on a few proposed changes that might actually be for the better. Today is not a productive work day; he already feels it in every bone. There was more underlying tension between Edmund and Adams at that meeting than they let on to, he is sure of it.

And beneath it all, Thomas has a dreadful sense of missing something essential.

This will not do. He pulls out his phone and composes a quick text.

_To: Alexander_

_Thomas: Did Edmund seem strange to you at the meeting?_

Alexander takes his time with replying, probably because that man has not had an unproductive day since he learned how to talk.

_Alexander: Not supposed to say this, but rumor has it there might be another kid on the way soon with Lizzie. Wash was looking for a temporary replacement last I heard._

That would account for some of the general lack of usual pleasantness, but not for all of it.

 _Feeling too distracted to get anything done today,_ Thomas sends another text. Alexander indulges him, even though Thomas suspects he does not stop working as he does so. His phone screen lights up with a photo of Alexander, pouting at the camera, captioned: _When your assistant cuts off your caffeine after you’ve imbibed twice your regular amount before lunch._

Ah, so maybe Thomas isn’t the only one thrown off by Washington’s unannounced absence. He takes a few minutes to study the photo more intently, and finds himself smiling at it. Alexander looks good. The dark circles beneath his eyes are less pronounced than usual, though that could just be the lighting. His lips are flushed and full in the pout, but there’s a spark in his eyes that Thomas adores beyond reason, belying the feigned contriteness of the photo. He looks alive, full of something a camera can’t correctly capture but Thomas knows is there. Maybe he should stop by Alexander’s office.

But he has nothing to ask the Head of Finance today, and he doesn’t want to interrupt Alexander’s work. Whatever is going on between them, it certainly doesn’t extend into the office. Or, at least, it shouldn’t.

Albert Gallatin, his favorite subordinate, if he had favorites, which he definitely doesn't have, walks into his office with an armful of paper and dumps it on Thomas’ desk without preamble. "Scripts from I.T. about how they’d like to effect the changes you want for the website," he explains. There’s a sticky note on top that Thomas doesn’t even need to look at to know it is from Monroe. He didn’t take being beaten for the position of Head of I.T. with the grace one might expect from a professional, and has seemingly made it his mission to passive-aggressively print any responses instead of e-mailing it. Albert catches a glimpse of his phone, still showing the picture, and raises his eyebrows. "Why are you looking at a picture of Mr. Hamilton?"

"Well." Thomas is stumped as for how to answer that. Trading jokes? Is that what they’re doing? Would that explain the awkwardness away? "Well," he says again, as if this time around the necessary words would just flow out of his mouth.

In the end, the delay in his answer becomes too long and Albert seems to have caught on. "None of my business, I get it," he grins widely, a scary sight, "There’s actually something I need to talk to you about."

"What’s that?"

"There’s been an issue with my paycheck. When I went to cash it in there was almost twice as much on it as usual. Naturally I didn’t want to bother you with it, so I went to HR to clear it up, only to be informed that a pay rise was part of the promotion I’d been given. They seemed concerned you hadn’t informed me of everything the new position entailed."

He lets that hang in the air for a few seconds, meaningfully. "Imagine my surprise."

Thomas gapes. "Did I really forget to tell you?"

"I can’t say for sure whether I’m extremely flattered or hurt that you didn’t consider giving me the option of leaving. I heard when Mr. Hamilton promoted Oliver to personal assistant he told him he’d write him glowing recommendations wherever he wanted to apply."

"You forget that when you signed on to being my intern you became part of my property, Albert," Thomas snorts, "Like you’d ever want to leave. You’ve been taking a meagre intern’s pay for three consecutive years. You love this company."

Albert crosses his arms and huffs. It must be a matter of principle.

"I’m sorry I forgot to mention it."

"You’ve been out of sorts lately, Mr. Jefferson. Distracted."

A pregnant pause, in which Albert nods towards his now face-down phone, and Thomas tries his level best to look mildly reproving.

"Good to see there’s a nice reason for it. Otherwise I would have had to worry about you. Not in my contract, so it would be a huge inconvenience for me, but I’d probably do it anyway."

"I wasn’t aware this promotion gave you leave to sass me directly, Albert, you usually just do it under your breath."

" _Adel verpflichtet_ , they say," Albert needles him with an arched eyebrow, before bowing out of the office. Now, Thomas doesn’t understand what he was saying, but he caught the gist of it fine. He’s fond of Albert, he won’t deny it.

+

Alexander meets Thomas at his door on Friday, just about getting ready to knock. The feeling of tension in Thomas’ body ebbs away when Alexander offers him a smile that plays at being coy. He’s nervous. It’s actually kind of cute.

"You look well put together, considering you probably left work half an hour ago," Thomas compliments with a questioning eyebrow-raise.

"The office gym has showers, don’t judge me," Alexander retorts. Then, after a beat: "You look good, Thomas."

"Why, thank you, _mon chaton_ ," Thomas leans in and presses a chaste kiss to Alexander’s cheek.

"You still haven’t told me where you’re taking me," says Alexander, falling into place next to Thomas. The restaurant is quite a few blocks away and actually much closer to Alexander’s place, but he didn’t want to lose the opportunity to chat a bit as they walk.

Thomas talks about his plans with James and Dolley for the rest of the weekend, which include meeting up with friends from Europe to show them Ellis Island and other incredibly cliché tourist stuff. Alexander confesses that he’s actually never been to see the Stature of Liberty.

"When I came to New York it wasn’t a priority, and I just haven’t made the time. I’ve seen photos, you know? Doesn’t that suffice?"

"It most certainly does not," Thomas responds, agog. Alexander hides a grin. "That might be date number something, then."

And it is very easy to just talk about this sort of stuff with Alexander. Conversation that isn’t littered with political or economic insights flows easily between them - has done so from the very first time they talked. They have a well-established rapport between them now. Unfortunately, that isn’t enough to facilitate a successful relationship.

"You seem pretty confident that you’re getting another one," Alexander smiles, "Is the restaurant that good?"

"No match for my cooking, undoubtedly. But it’s decent."

When they arrive, Alexander smiles knowingly and reveals he’s been in before. "If you count this as ‘decent’, I am in awe of what constitutes ‘excellent’ in Thomas Jefferson’s humble opinion."

"Go on more dates with me and you’re bound to find out eventually," Thomas goads, already taking his mostly decorative scarf off when he freezes. "Fuck."

"What is it?" Alexander says behind him, in the middle of venturing off in a story about disaster dates and how Thomas really shouldn’t talk about future dates before they’ve gotten through this one.

"Washington," Thomas mutters, already dragging Alexander back out of the restaurant and dialing a number to cancel the reservation. "It’s _very_ short-notice, I realize. I do apologize, Ma’am. Thank you for understanding."

His Virginian roots show up in his speech when he is stressed. It’s a fact. James teases him for it occasionally, whenever his 'call out Thomas on his bullshit' wheel lands on that particular category.

"What the hell?" Alexander looks at him, demanding an explanation.

"Washington and his wife are having dinner in there right now," Thomas nods in the general direction of the restaurant they are swiftly retreating from. Alexander looks unspeakably disappointed, and it pains Thomas like a bitter shot of _Malört_.

They walk in awkward silence for a while, and it takes one or two blocks for Thomas to realize that Alexander is heading back to his apartment. "Hey," he says, stopping Alexander with a careful hand to his elbow. The younger man looks at him over his shoulder. "It’s unfortunate, but it doesn’t have to mean we dressed up for nothing."

A raised eyebrow. Ah, innuendo. "I mean," Thomas corrects, "That I’d still like to spend some time with you tonight, in whichever context is preferable to you."

"It feels like a punch in the gut," Alexander reveals, frowning, "The knowledge that we risk losing our job if someone finds out."

Would now be a bad time to mention that Thomas is fairly certain Albert has caught on?

"Doesn’t it make you question whether any of this is worth it?" Alexander’s next words make Thomas empathize with the sucker-punch metaphor.

"That’s-" Thomas stops short. " _I_ think it is worth it. Even if this turns out to be better suited as companionship in the end, you’re still worth getting to know."

"You’re sweet," says Alex, taking a beat before continuing: "So are you coming along back to my place?"

"Now whose speech is tainted by innuendo?" Thomas grins. Alexander rolls his eyes, but can’t entirely avoid the small smile. Attraction is also a well-established part of whatever they share. "Won’t Gilbert be suspicious?"

They are still staying in Alexander’s guest room, until they head back to France in three to four more months.

"The Frenchperson knows I have a date. They’re with Herc and John tonight, most likely gossiping, and if not that, then engaging in a very kinky _menage-à-trois_ with the lovely couple," Alexander dismisses with a wave of his hand.

"Alright then, let’s go to yours," Thomas nods.

They walk side by side silently for a while. Thomas takes to watching Alexander out of the corner of his eye. From the looks of it he is in deep contemplation about _something_. His eyes are narrowed as he stares at the pavement beneath them, his brow furrowed.

"Are you still sleeping with Gilbert?" It blurts out of Thomas, who can’t stand the lack of conversation right now. It awakens fears in him that Alexander might be regretting giving this whole thing a chance in the first place.

"Uh," says Alex, intelligently.

"It’s okay if you are," Thomas hastens to add, "We haven’t talked about what this is yet, we haven’t talked about exclusivity-"

"To be perfectly honest it hasn’t come up in a while. They haven’t approached me about it so far and it felt weird to just blurt out ‘ _Gilbert I currently have no interest in bedding you_ ’ unprompted."

"I see," Thomas says, not bothering to hide the smile. No interest in sleeping with someone else is certainly a positive thing in his book.

"Well, as I said," Thomas eventually dares, "You agreed to give dating me a try. For the time being we are starting from scrap. It isn’t like this is a negotiated relationship yet."

They reach Alexander’s place a few moments later, above the bar his group of friends seems to favor so much.

"Do you drink beer?" Alexander asks him once he has taken his shoes off and made other improvements for his comfort level, heading straight for the fridge.

"No," Thomas immediately replies, mildly disgusted. Alexander snorts and takes out two bottles anyway.

"Now you do. John left this here when he came over last weekend and I need to get rid of it."

He looks around briefly, presumably for a bottle opener, then shrugs and opens the bottle with his teeth. Thomas probably shouldn’t find that as disturbingly arousing as he does, but it can’t be helped. He feels warmer than before.

"I didn’t know John likes beer," Thomas comments as Alexander sets the drinks down on the table by the couch and joins Thomas on said couch, tucking his legs under his body.

"He doesn’t," Alexander snorts, "But his father hates it and that makes John insist he loves it."

Thomas nods. John has not quite grown out of his teenage rebellion phase even if relations with his father have improved a great deal since he first came out. It is a far cry from the unconditional support each child deserves from their parent in such regards, but at least Henry Laurens is trying to find his way to acceptance. For one, he hasn’t pulled funding from the wedding. He’s met Hercules and found him pleasant enough.

"What are we doing?" Thomas asks, clinking his bottle with Alexander’s before taking a first tentative sip. Yes, just as he remembers, it is not quite to his liking. Something about beer always tastes off to him.

"How do you feel about casual movie watching?" Alexander looks at him curiously as he waits for an answer.

"I’m amenable," Thomas agrees.

Alex laughs. "God, that sounds so stiff and formal."

"This is new for me," Thomas admits as he plays with the label on the bottle, picking at it with nails he should have thought to trim beforehand. He’s usually more particular about his grooming, but he forgot about this. Distracted, Albert was right. "I have practically no dating experience, Alexander."

"Oh, you poor thing," Alexander grins, getting up and pulling Thomas along with him to show him his sparse movie selection. "Most of these are from my college days. When I used to want to treat myself I’d buy an old, second-hand DVD. Those were the Pre-Netflix days, so each movie was like a treasure all of its own, meaning I was very particular about which movies I purchased. The ones I own are all favorites."

"But surely you’ve seen more?"

"If I was casually interested in a movie I’d get it from the library," Alexander informs him. Thomas has never really been a connoisseur of movies, as he has always preferred books, but he does recognize some of the titles as movies James had described as worth watching. He picks one out to look at the back of it.

"Gone with the Wind?" Alexander questions with a smug smile.

"Are you seriously judging me for my choice when only a few seconds ago you included it, by definition, amongst your favorites?"

"No, no," Alex laughs, putting a soothing hand on Thomas’ arm. "I should have expected it really, you and your Southern charm heritage. Am I right in guessing that you’ve read it?"

"I might have read it," Thomas crosses his arms.

"It’s sweet. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," Alexander assures him by way of winking, and goes to put it on. "So do you consider yourself more of a Scarlet or a Melanie?"

Thomas gives into the urge to throw a pillow at him, making Alex cackle and duck out of the way with surprising agility. "It’s a legitimate question," he laughs.

" _You’re_ a Rhett Butler if I ever saw one," Thomas snorts.

"Oh?" Alex grins, coming closer to sit back down next to Thomas, leaning in seductively. "You mean I’m attractive, passionate and hopelessly enamored with you?"

"I mean you’re a scoundrel, you little fucking gremlin," Thomas whispers, eyes flicking to Alexander’s lips for a moment upon noticing how close they are.

"Wrong movie, Thomas," Alexander laughs, drawing away again. "Why don’t you look for something to order? I’m kind of hungry."

He retreats to the bathroom while Thomas resolves to take care of it, and when they return the movie begins. It feels cliché to put an arm onto the back of the couch as a subtle way of conveying the desire for contact, and Thomas admittedly loses track of the movie a bit as he debates what course of action to take next, but Alexander seems to be thoroughly enjoying the movie, until he speaks.

"Just hold me, you idiot, you’re missing half of the movie with your staring."

Well then.

Thomas holds out his arm and Alex fits into him very nicely, his head pillowed on Thomas’ chest. Thomas’ chin rests on top of his head. He smells the shampoo Alexander must have used at the office gym, neutrally soap-like and probably containing at least fifteen different sulfates. Yikes. 

"This is nice," Thomas admits – a whispered confession. He feels Alexander smile into his chest.

"Watch the movie, Thomas."

"Excuse me for trying to be romantic," he defends.

"I’m not very romantic, admittedly," Alexander sighs, stretching a bit to reach his beer for a final sip.

"No?" Thomas wonders, even as he keeps his eye on-screen where Rhett Butler is currently kissing Scarlett after she vehemently rejects his proposal on screen. "Perhaps you’re not like him at all," Thomas says, nose scrunched up in disgust.

"I can’t tell whether that is a dig at my comparative lack of romantic abilities, in which case I feel beholden to point out that what he’s doing is highly problematic and questionable behavior, and speaks of a lack of respect for her consent, or whether you are giving me a compliment by correctly deducing that I would never be as coercive."

"You’re unbelievable," Thomas hides his laughter in Alexander’s hair. "I meant the latter. I agree, what he’s doing is inappropriate, but those were different times."

"It always made me wonder why so many people romanticize those times," Alexander murmurs.

"I thought it was one of your favorites," Thomas wrinkles his forehead. Alexander reaches out a finger to smooth the lines back down. 

"I love the movie, but not because of the story line. I like it because it is one of the first great colored movies," Alexander insists, going off on a dramatic account of the revolutionary film industry of the late thirties, of the different techniques applied and much more, veering off into how the black actress faced discrimination and how some of her co-stars stepped up for her. Only the bell ringing to announce their food has arrived puts a stop to it. Surprisingly though, Thomas finds himself listening raptly, hoping for more insight. He enjoys listening to Alexander talk about things which interest him. He takes that as a good sign.

They share sushi platters. Alexander is very apt with chopsticks, and Thomas sometimes has to revert to spearing the little morsels of food, something James has told him is rather impolite, but he is learning. It’s a learning curve, not a line straight to success.

"Gilbert will be home soon," Alexander checks his phone about an hour after the movie has ended, putting them at just slightly past midnight.

"That’s alright," Thomas yawns, "I’ve gotta be heading back home soon anyway, if I’m going to be awake and on my feet for tourist stuff all day tomorrow."

"I’ll walk you to the door," Alexander gets up with him, watches him as he slips into his shoes and bends down to redo the laces. If he is taking his time just a bit, what does it matter?

"I had a good time," Thomas admits freely, "Though I am sorry we had to scrap the original plans."

"That’s alright, you’ll make it up to me," Alexander smiles. It makes Thomas feel like optimism might be a viable option.

"Does that mean you’re giving me a second date?" Thomas teases, bending forward at the waist, teasingly. He doesn’t expect Alexander to take him by the tie, holding him at eye level.

"If you want to take me on a second date…" he grins, "Then I’m _amenable_." The last word is whispered, heavy with meaning, and Alexander makes his intentions clear when he leans in very slowly, giving Thomas time to voice objections he does not have before he kisses him.

It has less of the desperate need of their kiss beneath the mistletoe, and not a lot of the promise of their kiss in the hotel room after Angelica’s wedding. This is the first one that does not have too much underlying intent. It feels like a kiss just for the sake of kissing, and Thomas really likes it.

Alexander’s hand finds its way from Thomas’ tie to his neck, pulling them closer together without turning the kiss into a wild mix of grabbing and pressing. It feels decadent to just linger and enjoy the way Alexander’s lips feel under pressure from his own. He thinks about testing if he’d go for tongue right now, but he is hesitant to initiate. This feels good in any case. He finally decides on wrapping his arms, previously hovering in the air uncertainly, around Alexander’s waist and holding the man against him.

They savor the moment, together, and Thomas doesn’t loosen his grasp when they break apart.

"Since you don’t know anything about dating etiquette, I thought I’d enlighten you on what one usually does when a first date goes more than just acceptably well," Alexander teases, pressing a kiss to Thomas lips to assure him he is joking.

"This coming from the man who followed me into my hotel room the night we met without knowing my name," Thomas teases in return, nudging Alexander’s nose with his own, bringing their foreheads together. He has to angle his head down quite a bit, and he suspects Alexander is standing on tip toes, but it works and it feels good to hold Alexander. Now that he is allowed to, he doesn’t want to stop.

"Ah, days gone by," Alexander laughs, subdued. "I would invite you to bed, but I thought you wanted to take things slow."

"And there is the impending arrival of one innately curious Frenchperson to consider," is added, almost as an afterthought. 

Thomas hums as Alexander’s hand comes up to cup his cheek, scratching his beard softly.

"What I want," he explains, "Is to press you against the wall and keep you up all night."

There’s a sharp intake of breath from Alex. His other hand, the one not on his cheek right now, tightens in the fabric against Thomas’ chest.

"What I want is to kiss you senseless and explore every crevice of your body with my tongue and hands. I want to open you up so thoroughly you forget your own name. I want to keep going until you know nothing but the feel of my fingers curling inside of you. What I want is to press into you and feel you tighten around me."

"Thomas-" Alex sighs, melting into his touch more.

"But what this needs, rationally, is a slow progression to figure out if it can work long-term. We already know we’re compatible in bed, Alex. And if I focus too much on how you feel in my arms and not enough on how it feels being with you in other ways, we’re not being fair to ourselves."

"I know," Alexander agrees, fervently.

"So," Thomas asks, rubbing Alexander’s back as the man folds closer into the embrace. "What’s the socially acceptable amount of dates after which things can go to the next level?"

It is meant to be light-hearted banter, and Alexander does laugh, but when the answer turns out to be a decisive ‘three’, Thomas can’t help that his body courses with excitement.

"I better think of a good second date then," Thomas sighs, fake-weary, as though facing a terrible burden of responsibility. They look at each other, caught in their smiles. Both men lean in at the same time.

This kiss does hold more of a promise of things to come than the first of the night, now that they are both more aware of what their bodies want, but even so they break apart eventually.

"Good night," Thomas gives Alexander a final soft kiss.

"Good night," Alexander echoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, THE FACTS:  
> -Edmund Randolph: his wife and he were bae and their daughters only recalled ONE (1) single instance of misunderstanding throughout their marriage, after which Edmund knocked on her door and said ‘Betsey I have urgent business in town, but I will not leave this house until I am permitted to apologize to you.’ Iconic. We stan true love. Their marriage was so pure it makes me want to write fanfictions about them. He resigned in 1795 amidst some French scandal and headed to VA to practice law instead, and then defended Aaron Burr at his trial for treason in 1807  
> -Alex liked Malachy Postlethwayt’s trade & commerce book a lot, he lugged it around with him during the war & let me tell you it was NOT a small tome.  
> -did u guys know Ham spent one of his final days talking privately in his gardens with Olly? I love their friendship, my dudes.  
> -GWASH had a whole truckload full of medical issues. He needs some time off.  
> -Malört is a bitter Swedish liquor that is less flavorful than absinthe & has like wormwood in it. Its what you drink when you really hate your liver.  
> -Gone With the Wind is such bizarrely romanticized stuff tbh & the way it portrays slavery…man. I’ve read it & stuff because it’s a classic but I am not a fan. There is always the whole matter of seeing it in its historical context, but then I remember it was written in 1936 so by all accounts could have been handled better. Step the fuck up Margaret Mitchell. Also, when someone wanted to write the book from Mammy's, a.k.a. the house Slave’s, perspective, the copyright holders blocked its publication in the U.S. But, of course, what they *did* authorize was trashy romance sequels because they wouldn’t even leave Rhett the awesomeness of him finally quitting a woman that told him he ain’t shit for years. Not to say he’s a great guy, honestly, but Scarlett is just annoying, imo. Rant over.  
> EDIT: I have been made aware that the sequel about Mammy is actually authorized, and they attempted to block a sequel about Scarlett's half-sister. Also, I'd like to say that i UNDERSTAND why so many people like this book, i just don't.  
> Funny story though: there's been so much fix-it-fanfiction written about GWTW that there's a mention of it on the novel's wikipedia page.
> 
> The GERMAN  
> Adel verpflichtet: when climbing to a higher social position, behavior changes occur to adapt


	2. Poor Alexander Hamilton, he is missing (in) action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boys night & bitchfights at work  
> Oliver being the sweetest most adorablest boy  
> Alex POV because for some reason people keep insisting I never write anything from his perspective

Alexander wakes up just past two AM, barely over an hour after Thomas left, to the sound of someone crying next door.

He’s got nothing planned for tomorrow, so this bears checking out. Alexander is a good friend, okay?

"Gilbert?" He asks, knocking on the door to his guest bedroom. There’s an abrupt stop to the muffled crying, and he hears a light being switched on before clumsy footsteps pad towards the door.

Gilbert opens, wiping at their eyes profusely. "Alex, _mon cher_ , did I wake you? _Je suis très desolé._ It was not at all my intention, I promise you."

"Well, I’m awake now. You might as well tell me what’s wrong," Alexander prods. Gilbert takes his hand and leads him into the room, pulling him on the bed with them and sighing like rapidly deflating air mattress when Alexander finds a place on top of their admittedly very vast expanse of waxed chest.

"I miss Adrienne, _c’est tout_. I watch _petit_ Laurens and Hercules together, and it reminds me of the fun we had at university, _mais_ -" they take a deep breath before continuing; "It is not the same. I am not the same person I was then. I have changed, and although I think she has made me a better person, I also fear that, ever since I have found so much happiness in her, all of my old friends find me rather annoying."

"Annoying?" Alexander repeats, in disbelief.

"Ah, do not pretend it is so outrageous that I think so, Alex. You have told me often enough to shut up, or that I was overstepping boundaries that did not use to exist in our old days," Gilbert sniffles.

Alexander will freely admit that those words strike a chord in him, setting free a little cloud of guilt that makes his chest hurt.

"I’m sorry," he apologizes. "I’ve been going through stuff, and while, yes, you did overstep my boundaries sometimes – I won’t pretend you didn’t – I could have reacted better than to come at you with irritation."

"Do not apologize just because you think it will make me feel better," Gilbert squeezes their eyes shut. " _C’est inutile_."

"Gilbert," Alexander protests, cupping their cheek, "I am apologizing because you deserve an apology and because I haven’t been a very good friend to you despite my promise of hospitality."

"In that case, Alex, _je te remercie_ ," they press a kiss to Alexander’s brow and snake their arms around him. It is a bit of a test, Alex recognizes, when Gilbert’s hands run over the warm, naked skin of his back, perfectly manicured acrylics scratching pleasantly in a way that Alexander enjoys immensely. Temptation is there, admittedly. He won't pretend that just because he's got a chance with Thomas now he is no longer attracted to his French roommate. Alexander is a hot-blooded man, he gets turned on by loads of folks. But sleeping with Gilbert won’t ultimately get him what he wants, and even the anticipation of a stellar orgasm - Gilbert delivers on their promises, no false advertising to be found anywhere - isn’t enough to cloud his senses.

"Ah, Gilbert," Alexander tries for common sense, "You are in a vulnerable state right now, it isn’t the best time-"

" _Arrête tes mensonges, petit con_ ," Gilbert laughs against him. "You are not interested in sleeping with me now, I think. _Si c’est vrai, mon ami_ , you do not owe me an explanation. You don’t, eh, how you say, need to qualify your lack of consent?"

"It still feels nice, don’t get me wrong, and if-"

" _Je ne suis pas triste, Alex, ne t’inquiète pas_." Gilbert continues scratching his back, as though Alexander were a particularly complex and needy cat.

" _Vraiment_?" Alex yawns.

" _Je te promets_ ," they assure Alex with yet another kiss to his brow. It feels comforting. It feels like something that Alexander needs. There has never been pressure in the physical contact Gilbert bestows upon their friends. "I assume it is because your mysterious date went well? _Ah, tu souris, donc j’ai raison, oui_?"

"I am calling in my right to remain silent, I plead the fifth," Alexander proclaims into Gilbert’s chest. Gilbert laughs; a delightful sound that reminds Alexander of church bells whenever he hears it so effusively.

" _Il me rend hereux, Gilbert_ ," Alexander confesses, " _Très hereux._ _Je pourrais toucher le ciel_."

"Ah, _mon cher ami_ , I don’t think that metaphor tracks so well in French, but I am very happy to see you this way. When do I get to meet him?"

"If we decide that we’re serious, I’ll introduce you," Alex promises, and feels only a little guilty for not coming right out and saying that it is Thomas. His mind has been replaying the kisses they shared tonight so often he almost feels like they happened to someone else, like scenes from a movie he watched too often and became obsessed with.

"But we were talking about you," Alexander steers the conversation back to its original topic. "And why you were crying into your pillow."

"Ah, _ce n’est pas si grave_ , Alex. My loneliness is much defeated now that you have assured me of your friendship," Gilbert says loftily.

"Would be nice to get the four of us together for a university-boys-night again though," Alexander suggests, "It’s been ages since we’ve had drinks together."

"Ah, _c’est pas correct_. I went out with those two just tonight. But you are a workaholic, _et donc on ne te voit jamais_ by our side."

"Fuck you," retorts Alex, with a grin, already reaching for his phone.

_Ahhhh-lex: Bear is lonely we need another boisssss n8 again asap_

_Heurgh-cules: Can’t wait to cuddle all of you again!_

_Heurgh-cules: <3 _

_Jaw(li)-n(e): Gay._

_Heurgh-cules: John, we have been dating for five years, go suck a dick with your own gay mouth._

_Jaw(li)-n(e): I’m about to, if you’re done having explosive diarrhea in our bathroom._

_Gil-Bear Laugh-ayatte: <3 <3 <3 _

_Gil-Bear Laugh-ayatte: puppy love is le meilleur amour du monde!_

+

 

John Adams is not one for rousing rhetoric, but even Alexander has to admit that he can follow along quite well when the man takes his time to calmly talk about what direction he plans to lead the company in for the time being. That isn’t to say he agrees with said direction, but only that he understands which direction is the one his temporary boss wants to head in.

Thomas, on the other hand, is sitting across from him at the conference table, arms folded across his chest, scowling fiercely. His hair is exquisitely styled today, and Alexander is two seconds away from giving in and asking him if he has a new product because honestly the look of him is unfair. Also, the chewing on his lips has to stop. Thomas has wonderful lips, full and beautifully pink, soft and pliant and oh so knowledgeable in driving Alexander absolutely mad. And now the man is taking his teeth to them. It has to be on done on purpose, doesn’t it? But he hasn’t glanced at Alexander since they sat down, too intensely does he glare at Adams.

Alexander might not like the guy on a personal level, but he respects _some_ of his business strategies. At least Adams doesn’t question Alexander when it comes to financial issues. He does question whether Thomas’ marketing campaigns are good ideas, and Alexander understands why that rankles Thomas. Admittedly Alexander is sometimes very hesitant as well when it comes to the budget for such campaigns, but the ideas proposed are usually sound. Only an idiot would proclaim that Thomas doesn’t know how to entice a target audience. The best example of this is how utterly irresistible he has made himself for Alex. He could give hour-long speeches on that.

And yet, as if to demonstrate, Adams is currently busy tearing into the newest idea.

"Your last stunt lost us half of our investors, Mr. Jefferson, and I won’t approve of something like that if it can be helped-"

He goes off on some sort of tangent as Alexander watches Thomas’ eyes get progressively angrier. Thomas is very good at hiding how he feels. He supposes he had to be, growing up in conservative Virginia as in the closet and up in high society as he was. For him to let anger show is testament to a veritable rage burning inside of him. Alex has to admit, in the privacy of his own mind, that it turns him on a little to watch Thomas look ready to annihilate someone with a few words. Perhaps that is why they continue to goad each other into debates even though they have been increasingly learning to compromise with the right incentive.

_To: Thomas_

_Alexander: You look so hot when you glare at him all angrily._

_Alexander: Makes me want to get down on my knees for you._

Adams is beginning to repeat himself, so when Thomas’ phone vibrates a little, he picks it up. Beside a surprised raise of his eyebrow, Thomas doesn’t acknowledge the texts any further. He puts his phone face down and clears his throat to retort.

The little spat continues for just about fifteen minutes until Alex – upon listening to Adams talk about financial losses yet again – finds himself compelled to put his own two cents in.

"We’ve just about recouped those losses. The new demographic has brought us a considerable amount of new customers, and after the charity gala we’ve signed on quite a few new investors, if the information I received from PR is correct."

He looks at Angelica, who nods to confirm his words.

"I’m pretty confident that by the end of the year we might have even made a profit."

It is with some diplomacy he avoids stating outright that he really likes Thomas’ new idea. Thomas still isn’t looking at him. One of his hands is clenched tightly while the other is tapping out a soft rhythm on the table.

_To: Thomas_

_Alexander: Don’t get shy now. You’ve told me much dirtier things, late at night._

Once more Thomas passively checks his phone. Alexander catches him rolling his eyes. But he still isn’t looking at him. Adams fumes some more and when they have to call the meeting over nothing has really been resolved, but everybody still needs to get their share of work done for the day.

"Honestly," Angelica says to Randolph as they depart, “I know I used to say things would get better if Hamilton and Jefferson stopped screaming at one another, but this might just be worse.”

“You’re telling me,” Randolph replies, amused. Then: “Fancy a coffee before we break our backs trying to catch up on all the time we just wasted?”

+

"Mr. Jefferson here to see you," Oliver pokes his head through the door as Alex is simultaneously drinking his third cup of coffee for the day and checking out the numbers he received from his staff today. Ever since Oliver brought him back Ceylon Cinnamon from his graduation trip to Asia, the office sludge has been much more palatable. He supposes his assistant didn’t mean for it to backfire so that his consumption would skyrocket all the more, but he has taken it in stride. After denial, acceptance must inevitably follow, once anger and bargaining have failed. For a while Oliver seemed pretty beaten down. That might have been the depression phase. He’s glad they’re through that. 

"Thank you Oliver, only send him in if he’s got bribery food, please," Alex is intensely focused on the screen as calculations and diagnostics run across his field of vision. As if he could catch any inaccuracies without caffeine pumping through him. 

"No food, I’m afraid, Mr. Hamilton."

A great, heavy sigh from Alexander.

"Unprofessional of him. Chastise him and send him in anyway, I’m feeling lenient today."

"You know I can hear you, right?" Thomas' voice resounds from just next to Oliver. "I’m not above forcing entry, Alexander."

Oliver tells him, in a voice dripping with disappointment: "Unprofessional and unacceptable, Mr. Jefferson. I can e-mail you a list of acceptable bribery food if you find yourself stumped, for next time."

Then Thomas is inside his office, with the door shut behind him.

"You never replied to my text," Alexander hasn’t looked up from his screen.

"Because _that_ would have actually been unprofessional, and I’d thank you not to sext me while I am debating the future of my department again."

His voice is prim and that is ultimately what makes Alexander glance up. Oh, Thomas does in fact not look very pleased.

"Alright," Alexander draws out the word. It’s a boundary he wasn’t aware of, and yes, it wasn’t something they’d discussed yet, but they aren’t strangers to such messages. Assumptions, assumptions. He knows what Hercules would say to those. Alex is a fan of puns, but Herc has made the ass-related one about that too many times for it to warrant anything but a grimace of pain. 

"I brought you the budget for the new marketing campaign," Thomas tells him, stiffly. Something is going on. Something is wrong. What else has he done? Has he so grievously overstepped?

"Could have had Albert bring it over," Alexander observes. "And the campaign didn’t get approval."

"I plan on still getting approval, one way or another," Thomas crosses his arms.

There’s a terse quiet that stretches throughout the room.

"Something else is the matter, isn’t it?" Alexander blurts out when he can’t take it anymore.

"I feel like I owe you my thanks for defending the campaign, and I don’t like it."

"That makes it sound like nepotism," Alex throws in, closing the diagnostics window of his laptop and wheeling to the side to lean forward across the desk and shuffle through the papers presented. It’s a solid calculation, and well within the powers of possibility. Someone has been reading up on how money works, Alexander thinks, with no little amount of pride. "It wasn’t, in case you’re wondering. I didn’t defend you because you’re my- whatever." Alexander ducks his head, uncomfortable with the wording he chose but unsure what would fit properly. Are they boyfriends? It’s probably too soon to call it that. They are certainly dating, or at least they plan to be dating. More dates are in store. They defined that, if nothing else. "What I mean to say is that I am very capable of keeping personal and professional things separate."

"You say that," Thomas sighs, "And then you send me explicit texts about how much you’d like to suck my cock while we’re supposed to be in a meeting."

Ah, therein lays the problem. Although, if Thomas considers those texts explicit, he's in for quite the surprise. That was as far from explicit as Alex could manage. 

"I won’t do it again, if it bothered you so much," Alexander huffs, continuing to flick through the pages.

"You don’t see a problem with that kind of behavior?" Thomas raises his eyebrows.

"Not particularly. I see your concern, but I certainly don’t share it."

More quiet.

"Don’t do it again," Thomas demands.

"Sure," Alexander complies, a little too tersely to go entirely unnoticed. "Are we good?"

"I don't mean to say I don't enjoy knowing that you think of me. Or...how you think of me. But not during office hours."

"Office hours end at five, Thomas. Any later than that is fair game as of now, prepare yourself. Are we good, I asked?"

For a second it looks like Thomas wants to touch him. He certainly takes a few steps towards him, if that is any indication. But then he stops short, just as his hand lifts. Their eyes hold. Thomas takes a deep breath and is finally moved to cover Alexander’s hand – on the mouse clicking away furiously at pop-up windows telling him new numbers are in – with his own and giving it a squeeze.

"I _hope_ we’re good, _mon chaton_."

 

+

Hercules arrives at his place at precisely eight PM that night, bringing along with him one very widely grinning John Laurens carrying a pack of beer. Ah shit, and he just got rid of the last of the bottles from previous nights. Alexander and Gilbert receive the customary kisses in greeting before all of them settle down on Gilbert’s bed together to watch trashy stuff on the television they dragged all the way into this room specifically for tonight’s occasion.

They leave a sitcom playing in the background but mostly they just talk, until Gilbert decides they want a face mask and Hercules agrees very enthusiastically.

"John has been neglecting to shave properly, and he’s given me quite the stubble burn, my skin needs some TLC," Hercules insists, patting his cheeks as John grins into the pillow his head is propped up on, making kissy faces at his fiancé.

"But Hercules, your John’s skin is as smooth as a baby’s," Gilbert voices their confusion, stroking John’s clean-shaven cheek. "How do you get burned on this?"

"He didn’t mean his facial scruff, Bear," Alex clues Gilbert in on the subtext that was obvious to everyone else.

They take it in stride. "Ah, in that case you must use some oil, _pour que tout soit lisse_ , _oui_? Come with me, Hercules _mon chevalier_ , we will take care of your so rudely abused skin. _Et tu, John, tu seras le prochain bénéficiaire de ma générosité_. I have just the product for you."

"I am quaking in my boots," shudders John, earning himself a disdainful look from Gilbert. "You have no legs to stand on, Bear, considering what you tell me you get up to with your partners in bed. No face masks can soothe whipping burns."

" _Tu te trompes, John-le-con_ , I have two, _non_ , some would say three, perfectly serviceable legs on which I may stand," they call from the bathroom.

"Are we really pretending like we haven’t all sucked their cock and found it just barely above average?" John accuses when neither Alex nor Hercules moves to contradict Gilbert’s brag.

"Are we really pretending like we still care about which one of us has the biggest cock?" Alex throws in, after he has checked his phone to find that Thomas still hasn’t texted him. It puts a little dampener on his mood, to be perfectly honest.

"Of course not, it’s Herc," John says at the same time as Gilbert says, " _Non, on sait que c’est notre chevalier_ who boasts the most."

Alex snorts.

"Don’t worry, Alex, you’re a close second," John grins and trails a finger down Alexander’s backside. He can’t help but squirm. "Touchy." John looks wolfish when he finds a perceived vulnerability in Alex. "Been a while, Alex?"

"Alex and his date-mate are taking things slow, John, haven’t you heard?" Hercules joins in with the teasing as he returns to the room, wearing a mint-green face mask. Gilbert trails just behind him sporting a bright pink face mask that Alexander signed the package for last week, uncomfortably aware it cost more than he used to spend on food in a fortnight. How times change. 

"Weren’t you saying something about your father, John? Can’t we get back to that?" Alexander pleads, foregoing any attempts at subtlety. He doesn’t want to talk about Thomas, even anonymously, if Thomas isn’t even texting him.

"He got it in his head that he’d quite like to help organize the wedding, and we suspect it is because he is trying to find a way to make it _less gay_ ," Hercules jumps in, the most merciful of his friends, keenly sensing, like a mother hen, that his troubled child Alexander is made uneasy by the mention of his romantic pursuits.

"Which is impossible, because, alas, I, the _most heterosexual_ of _all the gays_ , have chosen to marry the disgracefully not-actually-homosexual Hercules, who is so uncompromisingly gay he cannot even walk straight most days," John throws himself into Hercules’ arms, almost upsetting the face mask and earning himself a stern slap on the arm from Gilbert. "Ah, Hercules, my true but so very, very gay love, who will undoubtedly insist on starting the service with ‘ _queerly_ beloved, we are gathered here to _gay_ -’"

"You got that from a t-shirt John, zero points for absolutely lacking any creativity whatsoever," Alex shuts him down. John shrugs, and moves on to the subjectively greener pastures of making Alex uncomfortable.

"Should I invite Thomas to Stag Night?"

"Can you even call it a stag night when you are both attending?" Alexander deflects, because that is better than talking about Thomas and potentially getting caught up in a web of lies.

"Sure we can," Hercules beams. "We can and we do call it that."

"Exactly. Don’t deflect, Alex," John tuts, "Thomas. Yes or no?"

"Why wouldn’t I be fine with that?" He thinks he has managed to be adequately convincing.

"I don’t know, man," John sighs dramatically, "Perhaps because you waited almost a year to tell me you’d fucked him?"

"Whoops," says Alex, not apologetic at all. John’s reaction when he’d finally been told was mostly a guffaw and a screamed ‘ _Oh my fucking god_ , _that’s how you found out he was into dick as well! Honest conversations, my ass!_ ’

"Never thought he’d take it up the ass, to be honest," John muses, and oh, alright, they’ve already reached that part of the evening. In that case, honesty hour approaches.

"I bottomed, actually," Alexander sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He expects the ribbing that follows. He doesn’t expect the incredulous laughter that goes along with it.

"And why did you never offer to bottom for me, hm, _mon cher_?" Gilbert wonders, poking him in the side accusingly.

"Oh, I don’t know, probably because you always beg me to shove it up your ass? ‘ _Oh, mais_ , Alexander, _le strap-on, c’est pas la meme chose_. I need your thick, long cock inside of me _immédiatement_!’"

"Lies and slander," cries John, "You told us you weren’t into bottoming. We have been misled in a manner most foul!"

"Fuck off, I don’t need to justify my partner-to-partner preferences," Alexander pouts. "You can invite Thomas to your Stag Night or whatever, we’re good."

At least he hopes they are.

"Are you going to hook up at the venue we choose?" John needles him some more even as Hercules shushes him.

"He’s got his date-mate, John. Do try and be mindful of that."

Alexander really loves Hercules and everything about him. Hercules is a good man. Hercules has honor. Conversation picks up again, this time leading into another exposé by Gilbert about how much they love Adrienne while they force more beer down their throat than strictly necessary, and soon most of the bed is giggling.

Just past midnight, while Hercules and Gilbert have taken over the kitchen whipping up a batch of not-quite-legal brownies, John begins kissing Alexander’s neck, searching a truce.

"Sorry if I took it too far," John whispers, drunk.

"Thank you," Alexander, who took a long time to learn not to answer ‘it is fine’ or ‘don’t worry about it’ to apologies, responds.

"I’m glad you’re dating again though," John tells him, earnestly. Then he pulls out his phone and opens snapchat. He takes a video in which he cuddles into Alexander, smiling his stupidly adorable drunk smile and crowing something into his ear that Alex supposes is meant to be ‘boy’s night’.

Half an hour later, after Alexander is waiting for the first brownie to kick in, he finally receives texts.

_To: Alexander_

_Thomas: For what it’s worth I can’t stop thinking about your mouth on my dick now._

_Thomas: Carpet burn seems like a good look for your knees_

_Thomas: Enjoy your night xx_

And damn it, if that doesn’t just make him grin like an idiot.

+

Thomas waits for him in the parking garage of their office, leaning against his stupidly expensive car which Alexander has never been inside of. He caught a ride with Gilbert today, forcing them to arrive at the office much earlier than they’d ever intended, but this way he doesn’t have to worry about leaving his bike here overnight.

"Office gym shower again?" Thomas muses as Alexander steps close enough to give him an impression of the new shower gel he bought just for today. There are cameras here, so they refrain from touching one another, but Thomas does hold open the door for Alexander quite chivalrously. It shouldn’t make his heart flutter quite so much.

"I don’t understand how you can look so put together after a full day of work without the office gym showers," Alexander says by way of answer.

"Want me to let you in on a little secret?" Thomas grins, leaning towards him once they are both inside of the car and safely out of the camera’s view. "I limit my caffeine consumption so I don’t restlessly fidget like a wound up little gremlin all day."

"Rude," Alexander gasps. Thomas catches his lips, putting his teeth to Alexander’s lower lip as he pulls back. Alright, he is somewhat mollified.

"Also, I keep a bag of certain products in my office and freshen up when necessary," Thomas adds as he starts the car and pulls out of the parking spot with practiced ease.

"I knew it. Natural beauty, my ass," Alex feels triumphant. "So, where are you taking me?"

"It’s a little out of town," Thomas admits, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He drums his fingers every time he does not have one hundred percent certainty how his words will go over. It is much harder to read Thomas than other people, Alex has found, but even he has some cues. "I wanted to avoid another Mr. and Mrs. Washington debacle."

"Sounds good," Alexander stretches in his seat, "I do look forward to checking off all the second-date classics I put on my list."

"Oh?" Thomas smiles as he pulls onto a busier street. "Do tell."

"Oh, you know," Alexander teases, "Casual footsie under the table, maybe holding your hand over the table, periodically thinking about crawling under the table and sucking you off."

He watches with no small amount of fascination as Thomas’ hands grip the steering wheel just a little tighter. Like he said, there are some cues. Alex is beginning to read them rather well, he thinks.

"Just thinking about it?" Thomas asks after a while.

"I didn’t know getting arrested for public indecency was one of your kinks, Thomas, but if you promise to post the bail money we can give it a whirl," Alexander snorts.

"Fuck you, I didn’t mean at the restaurant, obviously. It’s one of my favorites so I’d like to be able to keep patronizing it in the future."

"Don’t tell me we’re driving all the way to Virginia?"

"Not this time," Thomas answers, completely and purposefully ignoring the fact that Alexander was making a joke. "But I meant to imply that if you wanted to we could-"

He is cut off by his phone ringing. Thomas is, unlike Alex, organized enough to have his phone set up to connect to the Bluetooth speakers in his car. Whenever Alex gets a call while driving he is torn between picking up and risking a ticket and missing a possibly important call. Thomas gives Alexander a look, who mimes zipping his mouth, and answers.

"Good evening, Dolley, I’m driving, can it wait?" He asks, pleasantly.

"Thomas, thank god you picked up," Dolley sounds distinctively panicked. They come up at a stop light. "James’ blood pressure started climbing insanely high an hour ago and he ran a risk of a stroke, so I called an ambulance to get him to the hospital. They’re keeping him overnight, and I’m staying with him until he’s stabilized at least, but Jonny is still having a playdate with a friend and needs to be picked up and I can’t-" She breaks off, sobbing a little.

Thomas closes his eyes for a second, exhales meaningfully, and casts, at Alexander, an apologetic look. "I’ll pick him up right now. Can you text the friend’s mom to let her know I’m coming?"

"Thank you," Dolley sobs, sounding indeed very grateful. "I don’t know what I’d do without you, Tommy."

"Take care of James, Dolley. It’ll be alright."

The call ends, and Thomas takes a turn to change directions and head to the address Dolley gave him. Apparently he knows it well.

"I’m sorry-" he begins, but Alex cuts him off.

"Don’t think for even a second that this doesn’t take precedence, Thomas. It’s fine."

"Yeah?" Thomas asks, unsure and therefore tapping the steering wheel again.

"Promise," Alexander puts a hand on his shoulder.

+

Alexander, insisting that he can stay and help instead of calling it a night early, sees the inside of the Madison house for the first time. Little Jonny is apparently completely exhausted, because he falls asleep in Thomas’ arms the second they pick him up.

"Uncle Dommy," he mumbles happily and proceeds to close his eyes. Thomas takes care of him with absolute diligence, methodically checking if the diaper needs changing and if anything else needs handling. Alexander thinks that he’d make a great father, and then he remembers that there was a long time when Thomas dearly wanted to become a father. That Thomas had been father to a stillborn daughter, in fact. His heart twists and he wants to reach out and hold Thomas.

"You’re very good with him," Alexander settles on. Thomas smiles dismissively.

"I’ve babysat him before," Thomas shrugs, "He’s a very low-maintenance child." Thomas takes the baby monitor and leads Alexander into the kitchen, where he pours both of them a glass of water. Quiet persists afterwards, until Alexander runs his fool mouth and says: "Do you ever wonder if we’re cursed not to work out?"

"Because we had to cancel our original plans twice?" Thomas raises an incredulous eyebrow.

"Not just that," Alexander sighs. "We meet and I think I’ve never met anyone I connected with so instantly, we have an incredible night of sex, and then my insecurities catch up with me and I run away and regret it immediately. Then we meet again by sheer coincidence, only to find out we work together and can’t actually agree on most things. And when we finally pull our heads out of our asses, fate throws a wrench into every single date we plan."

Thomas listens to him rant about it, and once he is done takes a step towards him. "May I?"

Alexander nods, and finds himself folded into Thomas’ arms again. Thomas smells incredible, a mixture of a million different scents that blend into something so unique and heady that he can’t even begin to pick it all apart. The closest certainty he catches a whiff of is vanilla. That’s his hair oil. He’s seen a bottle of that at his place.

"You’re a lot more pessimistic about this than I’d anticipated," he says against Alexander’s hair.

"I get that way sometimes, Thomas, you should know that about me," Alex admits. It’s been a long time since he has truly been in a slump that has pulled him down so much it’s hard to get out of, but still. It’s a lurking thing, kept alive by spiraling thoughts and occasional pessimism.

"Hmm," Thomas hums, resting his chin on Alexander’s head thoughtfully. Alexander inhales his smell greedily. It does calm him. There has to be some lavender in there as well. He is sure of it. "Do you want to know what I think of this?"

"Hit me with it," Alexander sighs.

"I think it’s a test, of sorts," Thomas says.

"God testing you and all that?" Alexander, though his mother was very religious and he considers himself Christian, has never placed much stake in actual religion.

"No, I don’t actually think I believe in god," Thomas murmurs. "I mean it’s a test for us. There are a million ways tonight could have messed us up. But it didn’t. We’re still here, and I for one am still committed to trying to date you. Even more committed, if I’m honest, because you were so incredibly accommodating."

"You’re sweet," Alexander retorts, muffled against Thomas’ fantastically strong upper body.

"And occasionally very romantic, I’ve been told, so be wary," he teases, pulling back a little to touch a light finger to Alexander’s cheekbone.

"Can I kiss you?"

"If you like," Thomas smiles. Alexander reaches a hand around his neck and pulls himself up to press a kiss to his lips. They are in someone else’s house, and he thinks things could heat up all too quickly if they got started properly, so he keeps it quick and chaste.

Dolley comes through the door just past one AM, looking dead to the world but relieved. She crosses the room and practically flies into Thomas’ arms. He holds her to his chest in the same comforting manner he always uses on Alex. Only Dolley is smaller still than Alexander, so she practically disappears into his arms. Not for the first time, Alexander wonders if this is what it looked like when Martha used to seek out his arms. He hasn’t actually seen a picture of Martha yet, despite having been to Thomas’ place a few times now. "Thank you," Dolley tells him when he sets her down again.

"He’s asleep in his room," Thomas assures her, nodding towards the baby monitor. "How is James?"

"They got his blood pressure down again, he is stable and alright. Apparently he has been slacking off on his physical therapy in recent weeks," Dolley fiddles with her necklace, where a diamond ring sits proudly on an elegant silver chain.

"I’ll talk to him," Thomas assures her softly, pressing a tender kiss onto her hair. He has to lean down a fair bit to do it, almost folding in half. Then he gently turns her to look at Alex.

"You know Alexander, don’t you?"

"Only by reputation," she smiles, offering a hand, "Dolley Madison, welcome to our home. Sorry it has to happen under such circumstances. We’ll have you over for dinner when James gets out of the hospital."

"I’d like that," Alexander says, because what else could he answer? He knows James a bit better, from when he visits Thomas at work and from sometimes being interviewed by him as a source for his various books, but he wouldn’t consider James as his friend or even an acquaintance. Still, he supposes, with dating Thomas comes meeting his friends. And Dolley seems quite nice.

Dolley begs off to bed pretty quickly, and Thomas drives Alexander home.

"So, Dolley approves of you," Thomas licks his lips, "Seems like tonight wasn’t a total bust. At least, I’d say so…"

"Is this you asking for another date?"

"And if it is?" Thomas wants to know.

"Oh, Thomas, you should know plainly how _amenable_ I am."

"Oh my god, am I going to have to deal with that until the end of time?"

"Perhaps," Alexander laughs, leaning forward to brush a kiss onto his cheek. "I’ll see you at work."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Facts:  
> \- AHam and Adams didn't like one another, that is true, but they were in the same political party and were very similar people in regards to beliefs and whatnot. By all accounts they should have been better allies, but their personalities just clashed.  
> -Partially paralyzed people do run a myriad of risks that you have to keep an eye out for, including a stroke if their blood pressure climbs too high.  
> -Dolley & James' Kid, John, was a very troublesome one in later years. James adopted him, his biological father was Dolley's first husband & they loved him very much, but he had gambling and alcohol problems and while James did repeatedly try and give him responsibilities he never quite managed. He also squandered a lot of Dolley's money after James' death and that meant she died relatively poor.  
> -AHam occasionally was overtaken by extreme pessimism about the state of the human race & the world. They didn't diagnose it back then, but to most historians it seemed like depression. Chernow makes an argument for it in his biography.  
> -Also, Alex did believe in god, especially in later life, while Thomas was widely rumored to be an atheist, even if he personally claimed to just be a skeptic.  
> The French:  
> Je suis très desolé - I'm very sorry  
> c'est inutile - that's useless  
> je te remercie - I thank you  
> arrête tes mensonges, petit con - stop your lies, you little idiot  
> si c'est vrai - if that is true  
> je ne suis pas triste, Alex, ne t'inquiète pas - I'm not sad alex, don't worry  
> vraiment - really?  
> je te promets - I promise you  
> tu souris, donc j'ai raison, oui? - You're smiling, so I'm right, yes?  
> il me rend hereux, Gilbert, très heureux. Je pourrais toucher le ciel - he makes me happy, Gilbert, very happy. I could touch the sky.  
> ce n'est pas si grave - its not that bad  
> et donc on ne te voit jamais - and so you are never seen  
> pour que tout soit lisse - so that everything is smooth  
> tu seras le prochain bénéficiaire de ma générosité - you will be the next beneficiary of my generosity  
> tu te trompes, John-le-con - you are wrong, john-the-idiot  
> on sait que c'est notre chevalier - we know it is our knight  
> le strap-on, c'est pas la meme chose - the strap on isn't the same  
> immédiatement - immediately


	3. Then his mouth is on mine and I don't say no.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Office Shenanigans  
> Third Dates & the included social implications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back in a place with mostly-reliable Internet, praise be.

Some People, Thomas thinks, are not born for subterfuge. While he can work beside Albert for a day without actively noticing the younger man's presence around him, other interns aren't at all inconspicuous in the way they cluck their tongue while reading through memos. Exhibit A is currently displayed in his line of vision. 

 ****"Timothy," Thomas calls the youngest of his interns into his office as he catches him walk by outside.

"Yes, Mr. Jefferson?" Pickering sticks his head inside of the opened door, not entering until he has been actually called inside. His nose twitches, and in what can only be called spectacular showmanship his glasses slide back up and come to rest comfortably after the intern's worrying had left them slightly askew. 

"I seem to have lost Albert again," Thomas sighs. "Do you know anything about that?"

"This time I don’t." 

While Timothy Pickering might not be behaviorally subtle, he sure has a way of talking around the truth when the need arises. 

"Oh?" Thomas is skeptical. (Which past experience shows to be not entirely unfounded.)

"Cross my heart and hope to die, Sir," Timothy makes the corresponding movement and kisses his fingers in a familiar ‘scout’s honor’ gesture.

"In that case, do you have time to fetch Mr. Hamilton or his assistant for me?"

"I recognize a rhetorical question when it is presented to me. Right away, Mr. Jefferson," Timothy grins then practically skips away, apparently very chipper today. It does not bode well for Adams, Thomas thinks with no small amount of satisfaction. 

Thomas makes a round of the bullpen, collecting a few of the finished tasks he gave a while ago, when a sudden elevator ding has a very familiar woman walking inside of the office as though she owns it. Unquestionably stunning, her long black locs are tied together intricately to form an inverted ponytail, decorated with a few metal rings in just the right places. There are sunglasses sitting low on her nose, a silver nose ring reflects the light of the dull, overhead office lamps, and the smile on her face when she spots Thomas is so genuinely ecstatic that at first he thinks she must be looking at someone else.

"Ah, Thomas!" She heads straight in his direction, killer heels clicking along the office floor rhythmically like a metronome. You could write symphonies to the steady beat of her walk. " _Je suis si hereuse de te voir._ " Her words are accompanied by customary cheek kisses he reciprocates out of habit. His surprise might otherwise impede his faculties too much to comply. 

" _Moi aussi, Adrienne, tellement, néanmoins c’est plutôt surprenant. Je n’ai pas anticipé ta présence ici_."

" _Comme je le souhaitais_ ," she trills happily. "Now tell me, where are you hiding my dear partner?"

" _Merde, non_ ," a gasp from Gilbert’s unmistakable voice, several feet behind Thomas. "Adrienne?"

Gilbert has made their way past Thomas within seconds, and Adrienne grins as she reciprocates the swift embrace they have drawn her into. " _Oh, Gilbert, tu m’as manqué, tu ne peux pas l’imaginer.._." Her feet leave the ground; Gilbert picks her up and squeezes her tighter. She runs her hands through their hair, reverently smiling down at them. Finally they give her a peck, comparatively chaste, considering how they greet Alexander and Thomas most days. Speaking of Alexander, he too appears on the floor. 

" _Oh, mais si souvent je t’ai vu en rêve, ma petite_ ," they insist, carefully setting her back down as though she were made of air, and the slightest movement might make her disappear again.

Alexander patiently waits until the reunited couple has drawn apart before he makes his way over to kiss Adrienne as well, telling her some platitudes about just how long it has been, though it does not lack in sincerity. "That longer hairstyle is new, I see Gilbert was right in saying it looks good."

"Oh you think so?" Alexander is flustered, fingering his hair a little self-consciously. It’s open today, mainly because Thomas suspects he overslept a little and wanted to wait until it dried properly before he pulled it back. " _Oh, sans aucun doute, Alex_ ," she pats his cheek fondly, " _De plus, je t’en dois une, pour prendre soin de mon partenaire pendant mon absence_."

"That’s something I actually wanted to ask you about, Adrienne," Thomas pipes up, inserting himself into the conversation because he has wondered about it too long. "You call them your _partenaire_ , but that isn’t gender neutral, is it?"

" _Oh, oui_ ," Adrienne nods, "It is because French has a grammatical gender binary you cannot avoid without changing the entire language. _Tu sais, pas comme le ‘they’ etcetera en Anglais_. Mon Gilbert, they indicate to me what I may call them for the day, and if they are ever undecided, we use English to communicate. _Le francais, comme l’allemand, ce n’est pas tellement utile pour les gens comme Gilbert, déplorablement_. But we work around it, _oui_?" She says that last sentence while pinching Gilbert’s cheek. They look at her adoringly.

"Now, Alex, I believe Gilbert hinted at the possibility of you joining both of us when last we spoke of it?" Adrienne doesn’t even wait for Thomas to excuse himself out of the conversation, and he has the tremendous pleasure of watching Alexander choke on his own spit. There is a reason 'to be frank' has linguistic roots as 'to be French', Thomas considers. 

" _Merde, non, Adrienne,_ " Gilbert rushes to salvage the situation, " _Les circonstances ne sont plus les mêmes._ _Alex sort avec_ _quelqu’un couramment_."

Adrienne beams at Alex. "That’s lovely, Alexander. Do we know them?"

"I’m-" Alexander starts, blushing under Adrienne’s intense scrutiny. "I’m not comfortable talking about that yet. We’re still figuring out where we stand and if it’s something serious."

Alexander getting flustered by the thought of what he is doing with Thomas is a heartwearming sight. The earnestness on his face is unforgettable. 

"Ah, yes, that’s always a good plan," she nods, "In that case I wish you the best of luck. Gilbert, I don’t think I told you that we’re meeting George and Martha for lunch, did I?"

Adrienne, Thomas notes, though equally comfortable switching between both languages, once decided, does not switch before she has finished a sentence. Contrary to Gilbert, whose thoughts spill forth from their lips without regard for language when in trusted company.

" _Tu ne m’en as pas parlé, ma belle_ , but it is another lovely surprise,” they assure her, bending down to give her another tender kiss.

“Heaven help us, there’s two of them,” Alexander watches them leave fondly. Then he turns to Thomas. “Timothy tells me you have something for me?”

“Lunch, taken straight off Oliver’s approved list of bribery items, and another overview of funds I’d like your opinion on.”

“You sure know how to woo a man, Thomas,” Alexander laughs as he leads the way into Thomas’ office.

+

 

"Do I want to know what you’ve been up to?" Thomas asks when Albert finally finds his way back towards Thomas’ office, just short of office hours ending. He doesn’t have the decency to look contrite, but Thomas doesn’t know what he was expecting.

"There were issues in I.T. with the servers. They needed several months’ worth of information. I assumed you did not want to deal with Monroe and his cattiness," Albert shrugs, "That kept me busy most of the day. I sent a note upstairs with one of their interns."

"Thank you, Albert," Thomas acknowledges, though he has seen nothing close to a note, "And the rest of the day?"

"Ah," Albert shows his teeth, "That I cannot say. But I suspect we will bear witness to the fruit of my labors within the coming days, god willing."

"If, hypothetically, this might be another attempt someone is starting to get at Adams, I have to warn you that he is not entirely oblivious in regards to who the perpetrators may be."

"Then we should hope that those hypothetical rascals have taken sufficient precautions to remain under the radar," Albert responds.

"I do hope that such hypothetical endeavors will not obstruct your work in the future?" Thomas arches a brow upwards. Now Albert bites the inside of his cheek, conflicted.

"You’d be right to want to avoid any obstruction."

"I am glad we are in agreement," Thomas nods, and sends him home. The nice thing about Albert is that Thomas does not need to actively chastise him. Albert gets it. There’s a reason Thomas made him his assistant.

+

This time around, Thomas picks Alexander up after he has spent a nice afternoon with Dolley and James in the park. James grumbled a bit about not being an aging invalid when they insisted on putting a scarf around his neck.

("It’s almost July, Thomas, fucking spare me."

"I could always get a Snuggie on you, Jemmy, and then you’d have to deal with looking even more ridiculous.")

Alexander opens the door, hairclip in his mouth and wrestling his still damp strands into an acceptable style. Thomas doesn’t think his hair is very high-maintenance, because the amount of care he puts into managing it is abysmally low. If Thomas tried treating his hair that way, he’d never manage to keep it at this current length.

"Hey," he gets out around the hairclip. Thomas laughs and bends to give him a kiss on his cheek. If he lingers a bit, that's nobody's Business. 

"We’re not in a hurry, I confess I am a bit early, take your time."

Alex steps aside to allow Thomas entry.

"Where are the lovebirds?"

"Gilbert is showing Adrienne San Francisco for the weekend. This is only her second time in the States, after all. She has a whole bucket list she wants to get through."

"How convenient for us," Thomas smiles as he leans in and gets a second whiff of Alex. "New shampoo?"

"I accidentally used Adrienne’s, which is why my hair will be greasy as fuck, sorry. I tried to wash again with my own, but it’ll still be greasy and I was running on little time. Her’s has a lot more oil in it, it isn’t ideal for my hair texture."

"Remind me never to let you wash your hair at my place before I get you a shampoo of your own," Thomas voices a mental note out loud and watches Alexander’s eyes go wide. "What? Adrienne and I have very similar haircare needs. I think her natural hair is like 4a or 4b, actually, my stuff would grease you right up too."

(Inopportunely he remembers what it was like when his shower was overflowing with both his and Martha's stuff, whose fine blonde hair had different requirements altogether. They could scarcely turn in that shower for all the products stacked against the walls. She'd been very experimental with DIY stuff for a while as well. What an experience that had been.)

"That isn’t the startling part of those words," Alexander squeaks.

"Oh," Thomas smiles sheepishly, "Should I not have said that? I do anticipate that if this develops well, you’ll stay over occasionally."

Alright, yeah, stab in the dark, he has no idea what he is doing. This is unchartered territory, right now he feels himself a ragged pioneer. 

"I definitely want that," Alex nods empathically, "It just surprised me, is all."

"In that case," Thomas smiles, mollified, "Can I get a kiss now that you’re no longer tonguing your hairclip?"

"Asshole," Alexander pouts, but rises to press a tender kiss to Thomas’ lips. It feels amazing to be able to do this regularly now. How long has it been since he has had someone to kiss? Alexander’s lips are a delight, chapped though they may occasionally be. It is especially nice to feel Alexander hum into the kiss, apparently equally delighted.

"So," Alexander exhales when he leans back, one hand firm on Thomas’ chest. "What are the odds on this date being over before we reach the restaurant?"

"That’s not the type of attitude we like to see on date night, Alex," Thomas chastises, flicking Alexander’s nose.

"This isn’t a regular enough thing to be called date night, I don’t think," Alexander scowls as he rubs his nose.

Thomas raises his eyebrows, clears his throat, steps backwards.

"Oh come on, that is not what I meant. It is _a_ date night. It’s just not _Date Night_."

"You say that like it’s supposed to mean anything to me," Thomas replies, blandly. Alexander sighs.

"Let’s just get going, okay? I’ll try to have faith in us making it there and at least ordering drinks before we are somehow interrupted."

+

Drinks are ordered and served by the time that Alexander acknowledges, with a hesitant smile in place on lips Thomas cannot stop staring at, that they might make it through the evening without interruptions after all. Thomas cannot resist knocking on the wood of the table meaningfully.

"Now who is superstitious?" Alex bursts out laughing. The corners of his eyes crinkle absolutely adorably.

"No harm in covering all bases," Thomas shrugs, taking a sip of his water. They’re still debating whether or not they should order a bottle of wine. Thomas would ordinarily say yes, but he may or may not have plans for later that alcohol would only interfere with.

Truthfully, he is quite nervous. They’ve slept together once, and both of them were far from sober. It is entirely possible that they built the whole chemistry up in their head as greater than it actually is. The whole thing could flop. It wouldn’t be the end of the earth, Thomas likes Alex well enough without the mind-blowing sex of his memories, but he isn’t sure what Alex expects.

And what if, upon once more falling into bed together, the sexual tension which has been building over the last year fizzles out and dies? What if, what if? Thomas doesn't remember ever feeling so uncertain about Martha, who has been crossing his mind much more lately ever since he considered becoming serious about Alex, but nostalgia has a way of gilding what wasn't quite as shiny in reality.

There are so many discussions they still have to have.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Alexander queries as he sets down his coke. He has also forsworn alcohol but not caffeine, apparently, and Thomas thinks that bodes well for his further plans.

"I’m thinking about what I want to do to you after dinner," Thomas muses, turning his fork over repeatedly as he speaks. It takes effort to meet Alexander’s eyes after the man goes surprisingly quiet. He is worried he may have made him uncomfortable, but upon looking into his eyes, he is met with obvious desire. Thank god.

"Yeah?" Alex bites his lip to hide a full on grin.

"Mhm," says Thomas, equally giddy. "It is date number three, technically speaking. At least by my count."

"Anything you’d like to share with me?" Alexander ventures. The waitress arrives as Thomas works up the courage to voice the many fantasies that have had ample time to build up in his head in the year since they hooked up. There was that one drunken phone sex instance in the spring, but other than that they have mostly steered clear of actually encouraging physical intimacy past kisses. Words are one thing, following up on them another thing entirely. (Once more, he considers how nervous he actually is about rekindling the physicality of this Thing.)

They order, Alexander deliberately asking for them to prepare his dish without garlic, smiling a bit regretfully. "I love garlic," he laments. 

"Don’t forego it on my account," Thomas retorts. An arched eyebrow heavy with implication is the response. 

"You were going to share your fantasies," Alexander brings them back on track as he leans back and closes his menu. Thomas feels a tentative sensation, a foot nudging his foot just barely. An invitation, a thrilling one.

"Don’t you think there are other conversations we ought to have?"

"Undoubtedly," Alexander agrees, "But must they take precedence over the fun part?"

"You don’t think relationship negotiations are fun?"

"You’re stalling, Thomas," Alexander’s face becomes a little tighter. "I’m not trying to force a conversation here. You can just say you’re uncomfortable talking about that stuff in public."

"I’m trying to do this the right way, Alexander," Thomas sighs, pinching his nose. James is rubbing off on him.

Alexander rests his chin on one hand, elbow propped up on the table. "Is there a one right way to do relationships? If so, I beg of you to let me in on that particular secret."

"I just don’t want to rush into this and have you regret it," Thomas says.

"Then why talk about your plans for later on in the first place? You don’t think that would pique my interest or distract me?"

"You asked me what I was thinking about," Thomas frowns at the slightly accusing turn of conversation. Silence settles between them, and Thomas doesn’t have to strain his ears to hear the metaphorical crickets. It is Alexander that breaks the silence.

"What conversations do you want to have beforehand, then?"

"I’d like to know where you want this to go, ideally," Thomas starts, carefully.

"Is that a third date kind of question?" Alexander folds his napkin into increasingly smaller squares, not looking Thomas in the eye. Fuck, now Thomas regrets putting a stop to the dirty talk before it even started. They were on a roll. They could have eased into this conversation afterwards. But this is the better order of proceedings, isn’t it? With minds clouded by lust these conversations are skewered, inevitably – at least a bit.

"You tell me," Thomas prods, softly. He nudges Alexander’s foot, trailing the pointed edge of his shoe up Alexander’s sockless leg. Well, Thomas concedes, it _is_ almost July, but who the fuck doesn't wear socks with dress shoes? 

"I’d-" Alexander begins and stops short when Thomas’ foot pushes up the fabric of his pants just a little more as it moves along its path. "I would like to try for something long term." He says, staring at Thomas, caught between fascination and confusion. 

"Good," says Thomas, truly smiling. Because while, yes, they’d sort of had a conversation about this in a vague, general sense, it is very reassuring to hear it put plainly. "That is what I want as well."

Their food arrives, and for the first few bites they are quiet, before they pick up easy chatter on their respective dishes. The last of the initial awkwardness dissipates as Alexander offers a bite of his food to Thomas, feeding him off his fork. It’s absurdly erotic to watch Alexander swallow a lump in his throat when Thomas makes eye contact as he takes the offered delicacy between his teeth. This is completely new territory for him, but he is game.

He and Martha were never very flirtatious outside the privacy of their own home. There he goes again, thinking of her. Fuck. There isn’t a lot of public lewdness experience he can boast of, but Alexander guides them through it quite well and Thomas is quite happy to follow his cues. 

They clear the main course and then order a dessert to share. "Two spoons though, please," Alexander smiles at their waitress when she lets a comment slip about how adorable they are.

"Oh my god, I assumed, I’m sorry, my brother's gay, you know? He just got his first boyfriend and they're a bit like, oh god, I shouldn't have assumed-" she stammers. Thomas waves a placating hand around in the air.

"You assumed correctly. He’s just peculiar about having his own spoon so he can assure he gets most of the dessert for himself."

Their waitress smiles and giggles, then tells them she’ll get that for them as soon as possible.

"You noticed that?" Alexander asks, tone of voice strange. Thomas folds his hands under his chin.

"I’ve seen you share ice cream with John and Gilbert in the office. You get a spoon and shovel in a _fair_ amount before you realize what you’re doing and then pace yourself."

Alexander’s lips thin. "I assume it is a habit you must have picked up as you grew up, and it certainly isn’t something I’m making fun of. I just noticed," Thomas explains, reaching across the table for one of Alexander’s hands.

"You see right through me, don’t you Thomas?" Alexander’s voice is still strangely off-balance.

"I mean," he shrugs, "It is not impossible for you to still confuse me sometimes."

"Diplomatic."

"I don’t know what else to say. You seem upset."

"Sometimes I think that I’ve managed to let go of the more intrinsic survival habits of my childhood, and then someone points out something like you just did that I don’t even consciously notice I still do."

"It wasn’t supposed to be a critique either," Thomas insists.

"I’m not upset with you, Thomas. I’m upset with myself for still not being able to trust that I’ve overcome my struggles. I should be satisfied, but apparently I can’t ever be. It feels like a rotting tooth, how it reminds me that I don't actually belong in the circles I move in now. It makes me feel inadequate. I should be able to let it go."

"I always fold my clothes meticulously, and I pretty much never take off my suit jackets if I don’t have somewhere to hang them up."

"I know," Alexander says, furrowing his brow. "Why are you bringing that up?"

"Because while growing up my parents installed a whole drill set of rules that were to be obeyed, no matter what, and that made me expect punishment if I couldn’t, so it became as normal as breathing after a while. What I’m trying to say is that we all pick up habits while growing up that we can’t shake, and that it isn’t something you have to justify to me or anyone else."

Alexander stares at him for a long time, then turns his hand palm up and interlaces his fingers with Thomas'. They split their dessert and when Alexander seems hesitant to take some more, Thomas feeds him off of his own spoon.

Thomas gets the check, despite Alexander’s protests.

"I am not a financially dependent party in this dynamic and I won’t be treated as one," he huffs.

"Consider this, then," Thomas proposes. "I’m the one who asked you out, ergo I am the one who pays. You want to pay, try asking me out for yourself."

"I can’t believe you just un-ironically used the word ergo, you giant fucking nerd," Alexander beams at him. "Alright then, Thomas, go out with me again."

"I’d love to," says Thomas, smug as he pays for their meal.

There's a small argument that springs up when it comes to size of the tip, when Thomas lets drop that once or twice, when the service was truly terrible, he has foregone a tip. Alexander, indignated on behalf of struggling waiters and waitresses everywhere, huffs and delves into a fifteen minute rant about America's tip based economy and how stupid and exploitative it is, but how he considers it a duty to tip out of sheer decency, and how dare Thomas-

(Thomas ushers Alexander out of the restaurant and leaves a thirty-five percent tip to a beaming waitress. He can afford it, and his _date_ is clearly passionate about that, even if he remains blasé.)

As they step into the somewhat cooler night, they walk to where Thomas has parked the car in content silence that no longer feels as awkward as the previous ones. Alexander seems mollified by Thomas' generous contributions to the server's earnings. 

"So," Thomas finally has enough courage to ask once they have fastened their seatbelts like responsible adults, "Are you coming back to my place or am I dropping you off at yours?"

Alex considers this for a while.

"I thought you said I couldn’t shower at your place until you got me shampoo. Are you planning on casting me out into the night once you’ve had your wicked way with me?" Alexander leans in close to Thomas, licking a thin stripe up Thomas’ neck all the way to where his ear meets his scalp. Instant goosebumps follow as Thomas closes his eyes to savor the attention paid to him.

"I’ll run to the store and get you something tomorrow morning, if that is what it takes," he says honestly, "But we don’t need to do anything tonight."

(Or ever, god, why is he still nervous? This is going exceedingly well.)

"No? You seem pretty fired up, Thomas," Alexander smirks. "Won’t you be disappointed?"

"There’s nothing like the thought of conversations we have yet to have to cool my ardor," Thomas deadpans.

"Fair," Alex acknowledges, "Like the conversation about which one of us is ready to take the fall if we decide to disclose our ‘hopefully long-term’ Thing and fail at actually making it Long-term, but if I’m being honest I’m very happy to put a raincheck on that one until this whole thing has become a more permanent and comfortable fixture. I can’t imagine that decision not throwing a wrench into this dynamic, however it goes."

"I agree," Thomas says. "So?"

"Take me to yours."

+

They hold out on jumping one another until the door to Thomas’ apartment is closed behind them, but then Alexander stops his further path into the apartment with a deliberate touch to his arm. He watches as Alexander shrugs off the light jacket he’d been wearing earlier. Then he lets Alexander take off his own suit jacket and hang it up on the hanger designated for such purposes.

"I kind of need to say something beforehand," Alexander says, "In the interest of full disclosure-"

"Yeah, we’re definitely using protection, I haven’t been tested since right after the time we hooked up when I realized afterwards that I didn’t use a condom when I blew you, which was very unlike me-"

"That is not what I was going to say, but uh, you’re right, we’re definitely using condoms."

"Sorry, I interrupted you. What were you going to say?"

"I have not been fucked since we hooked up." Alexander closes his eyes tightly as he says it, as if anticipating some horrifying reaction.

"What do you mean? You had that thing with Gilbert, you definitely had sex," Thomas wonders.

"No, yeah, that definitely happened, but I haven’t _been fucked_ , Thomas."

"Oh." It dawns on Thomas just as Alexander continues to talk himself into a frenzy.

"So, yeah, I know we’re both excited to give this a try again and see where it goes but I, uh, will definitely need some extra preparation if I don’t have any alcohol to numb the initial stretch."

"Fuck, did I hurt you the last time?"

"No, but I definitely felt your impact in the days afterwards, which is fine, because I distinctively remember begging for exactly that," Alexander presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, reddening slightly. "Look, this isn’t a big deal. I just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page here."

"Then, in the interest of full disclosure, Alex," Thomas steps closer and wraps loops his fingers through Alexander’s belt to pull him closer, "I should warn you that once I am inside of you I am going to come embarrassingly fast, since I haven’t had anything but my rather unreliable right hand to keep me company since that wedding. You might be disappointed."

"Honestly, I expected as much," Alexander grins, "I think I’ll find a way to prolong it."

"Sounds exciting," Thomas murmurs, just before he captures Alexander’s lips. There is definite urgency in the kisses they trade now – none of them go particularly deep or hard as they work at getting their shoes off and loosening each other’s ties. Their teeth clack three times before they pull apart, laughing, to speed the process up somewhat. They leave a trail of clothes on the way to Thomas’ bedroom, something he has always found cliché but thinks he will enjoy looking at tomorrow morning.

Partly because it will be proof of what transpired between them, no matter how much Thomas is about to embarrass himself, and partly because the crumpled remnants of his shirt are a symbolic fuck you to the rules of his parents. Break one of them by being bi and you might as well go the whole way. Rebellion has never felt so good. 

Alexander tugs Thomas’ boxer briefs down as they reach his bedroom door, and Thomas kicks them off before he tries to get his hands on Alexander’s underwear. Alexander dances out of reach, holding Thomas at arm’s length to look him up and down.

"It hasn’t really changed since the last time you saw it," Thomas smirks.

"No, I know, but I am admiring you, _mon cher_ ," Alexander purrs, reviving the old nickname he fell into using that first night together.

"Would you deny me the chance to do the same?"

"You make a convincing argument, but just so you know, the shameful amount of weight I’ve gained on my belly and thighs was not proportionally added to the girth of my appendage."

"I’m already straining and painfully hard at the thought of your thighs around me, _mon chaton_ ," Thomas steps close to tilt Alexander’s head back for access to his neck. Kiss after kiss falls onto Alexander’s skin, loosening his locked muscles as Thomas traces a hand down his back, slipping it into Alexander’s boxer shorts to squeeze his ass. Alexander makes a pleased noise. "Trust that I think your body is incredibly sexy, alright?"

"I’ve got stretchmarks on my thighs now," Alexander’s words flee his mouth along with a gasp when Thomas begins to suck on his neck in earnest. "Little silvery scars, they look terrible. I’m really not reliable when it comes to taking care of my body, I don't even use lotion regularly-"

"Alex," Thomas murmurs, soothingly, and drops to his knees in front of the man. He noses at the fabric of the shorts, inhales deeply, opens his mouth and works it around the outline of Alexander until he gets to the head. Above him, Alex whimpers. His knees buckle, a little, so he holds onto the pull-up bar Thomas still has up from this morning. Oh, he meant to take that down. Once more he can see what Albert means by him being distracted.

It matters little, as it gives Alex something to hold onto as Thomas takes the head of his cock in his mouth, wetting the fabric and suckling on it like a particularly delicious treat. He releases him with a satisfied sigh, looking up at Alexander, who is breathing heavily.

"Can I?"  Thomas checks, with his hands firm on the waistband.

"Yeah," Alex’s answer is breathy and rushed. "Yeah," he repeats, a little steadier, "You definitely can."

The shorts come off and Alexander’s cock twitches enough to almost poke Thomas in the eye. Thomas grins and then works his tongue over the area around it. The inside of Alexander’s thighs deserves special attention. Truthfully, Thomas can barely see the marks Alex lamented, but he isn’t about to point that out. It isn’t what Alex wants to hear, and it isn’t what Thomas wants to spend the night discussing.

"We don’t have to have penetrative sex tonight, you know that, right? I can just finger you, or blow you, or whatever you want, really," Thomas punctuates each suggestion with kisses as he spreads Alexander’s legs, pressing him into the doorframe and scooting around to get comfortable on his naked knees. No carpet burn, but the parquet is definitely going to leave his skin roughed up a little.

"How about we move this to the bed first?" Alexander pants when Thomas trails curious hands up the back of his thighs.

"Good call," Thomas gets up and closes the bedroom door behind them. He walks Alex to the bed – "This is the first time I’m seeing your bedroom, Thomas, that’s absurd, nobody needs that many pillows." – And pushes him onto it before retrieving lube and condoms from the nightstand.

He joins Alexander on the bed, climbing on top of him and kissing him. They kiss for a long while, getting reacquainted with the reactions their bodies have towards one another. They can take their time. They have all the time in the world. This is wonderful. Alexander’s tongue is as skilled as Thomas remembers; darting back and forth teasingly as the man taking most of his weight alternates between nipping at and licking the seam of his lower lip.

"God, your mouth, Thomas," Alex moves, grinding up into him. "Mmh, I love your lips. They're so perfect and full. I could kiss you for a year straight and not get enough."

"You’d have to drink something, eventually," Thomas grins, moving on to kisses alongside the underside of Alexander’s jaw, freshly stubble free as the neat beard he keeps is trimmed to perfection. Recent work, by the looks of it.

(It is flattering to see evidence that Alexander groomed himself for tonight.)

"Way to spoil my fantasy, asshole- oh, ah, that feels nice," Alex moans, his eyelashes fluttering and his teeth catching on his lip. He is referring to the way Thomas is grinding their hips together, one hand firmly placed between Alexander’s cheeks to guide them closer.

" _Mmh, t’aimes quand je fais ça_?" Thomas bites Alexander’s earlobe.

"Fuck, Thomas, you know I do, I’m fucking, oh, I’m moaning for you," Alex pants, trying for more friction by canting his hips up against Thomas’ body.

"Tell me how much you like it, _mon chaton_ ," Thomas demands, peppering kisses all over Alexander’s neck and jaw, biting and sucking, licking in turn.

" _Je te veux si fort que_ – oh, god – _ça me déchire_ ," Alex’s voice is already a little breathier than seconds before. Thomas rewards his honesty with a firm press of his hips that makes both of them loud.

"I gotta say," Thomas travels down Alexander’s body, running his hands over Alexander’s nipples and testing their sensitivity, "The French dirty talk is just doing something to me."

" _Ça te donne envie de baiser_?" Alex teases, hands running along Thomas’ forearms as they bear down on his chest. Thomas kisses a path further down, getting his Hands around Alexander’s thighs and hoisting them up, spreading them for him. The sight of Alexander bared to him again is intoxicating in the best way possible.

"Did you-" Thomas furrows his brow as he kisses the smooth expanse of skin from his balls to his hole, licking over his perineum and savoring the feel of it on his tongue. "Did you shave this?"

"Gilbert-" Alexander gets the name out on a moan, "They convinced me to get it waxed. You like it?"

"Pretty great," Thomas admits, "I like how smooth it is. The hair is welcome too though."

"Good to know," Alexander says on a high note when Thomas dives back in and licks in broad strokes up Alexander’s balls before his hand gropes around the bedsheets for a condom. "Because I am never going through that again, it was painful as fuck and I felt like the salon girls were laughing at me behind my back."

Thomas hums, feeling Alexander shudder under his touch.

"I’m sure I have a dental dam somewhere," Thomas frowns, rolling to the side to open his drawer again. "I bought some a few weeks ago."

"You don’t have to-"

"Obviously. I want to so badly, though," Thomas clarifies, making a triumphant noise when he gets his hands on one of the packages. A little spit goes a long way in applying it. He gets his first tentative lick over it, and both of them react. Alexander just feels so good moaning beneath him. "Let’s get tested soon, okay? I really want to taste you without latex between us."

(Ah shit, he almost trails off into thinking about how they still haven't cleared up whether this is exclusive-)

"Definitely," Agrees Alexander, making his mind focus on nothing but him, throwing his head back into the pillow and arching his back. Thomas feels Alexander’s toes curl, digging into his spine, and he pushes Alexander’s thighs further towards his torso before diving in with renewed enthusiasm.

"Are you nice and relaxed for me?" Thomas hums after his tongue has swirled endless circles and darted inside, exploring and testing out what he likes. He gets to catalogue every miniscule reaction. He gets to take his time.

" _Doigte-moi_ , _Thomas, je t’en supplie_ ," Alex moans.

"I like it when you beg," Thomas bites the inside of Alexander’s thigh and feels him twitch. He considers the condoms for a while, and then considers his hands. There are no cuts on them. It’ll do. He squeezes a generous amount of lube onto them – so much that a bit drips onto his sheets – and rubs his fingers together to warm it up. Alexander watches him, out of breath and red in the face, propped up on his elbows. Thomas scoots a bit to kiss him, and Alex uses his momentum to switch their positions, crawling into Thomas’ lap. "Like this, please," he urges, smiling breathlessly when he feels Thomas’ index finger circle the ring of muscle at his entrance.

"You want to ride my fingers?" Thomas sits upright and wraps his free arm around Alexander’s waist, pressing them flush together. Delicious friction between their cocks as they rock together has him going out of breath and out of control faster than anticipated.

(Lie. He did anticipate this, but he still feels more the teenager than ever before.)

Fuck, but it’s good.

"Yes," Alex hisses when Thomas slides inside to the first, then the second knuckle. "Yes, fuck, Thomas, that’s what I want. I want your fingers just like that."

 "Alright, _mon chaton_ , alright," Thomas kisses Alexander’s temple, working the finger in to the base. "Tight fit," he mumbles distractedly. Alexander reaches between them and gets a hand around Thomas, trying to shift in place so that he can take both of them in one hand, but it’s a bit too small for that to be easily feasible, and he needs his other hand to hold himself upright in light of his quivering thighs – it is currently digging into Thomas’ shoulder. Still, the touch of their cocks and his hand is maddening in the pleasure it brings. Ah, nothing should feel this good.

"More," Alexander whines. Another kiss pressed to his temple, and Thomas tries to add a second finger as carefully as possible. Whimpers spill out of Alexander along with nonsensical pleas that all blur together, until Alexander is rocking himself on Thomas’ fingers and panting for more, again.

"How many do you want?"

"What I want right now is for you to pound me into the mattress, Thomas, but I’m being reasonable and saying: do one more finger beforehand and then maybe wait for me adjust until we really get started."

"I like that idea," Thomas grins, necking Alexander in a quest to bring their bodies even closer together.

"Please, Thomas, more," Alexander shifts on top of his fingers, looking otherworldly in their pleasure-drunk state. "Okay, fuck," Thomas groans, hips twitching upwards, "How do you want this to go?"

"Just like this," Alexander whimpers, " _Je veux te monter_ , Thomas, please, please, please."

"Fuck, Alex, you’re killing me here. Okay, hold on." Hands grope blindly for the condom and somehow he gets it into position, lubing himself up considerably to ease the passage ahead. Alexander grabs him, rising up onto his knees with strength newly found through determination and presses the head of Thomas’ cock into himself. Thomas watches with reverence as Alexander’s jaw slackens right along with his own. "Yes, baby," Thomas moans his approval, "Come on. Come on, please."

"Ah," Alexander gasps, about halfway through, pausing to breathe deeply for a few seconds before continuing. "You good?" Thomas asks, retrieving his hand from where it has been digging into the soft skin of Alexander’s thigh to tilt Alexander’s chin up.

"I’m so good," Alexander bares his teeth in a dopey little grin, letting his head fall back as he welcomes Thomas in the rest of the way. "You feel so good inside of me, ohhhh, fuck, Thomas, that’s good. Christ, fuck, you belong inside of me."

Thomas bottoms out, agrees: "Yes, fuck, _fuuuck_ , oh fuck, Alex, this really isn’t going to last all that long."

"I don’t care," Alex assures him, beginning to bounce around on his cock like he was created expressly to do only that. They fit together so well it makes Thomas’ head spin. He is dizzy with need, with want, burning up from the inside, ready to explode into a million little pieces. "I want to feel you inside of me for weeks, Thomas," Alex babbles, relying on old but indeed reliable rhetoric, lifting himself up on increasingly shaky legs. Thomas gets one hand beneath Alexander’s cheeks to offer his assistance, and their rhythm increases. "Oh, yes, Alex, oh my god, Alexander, oh god, oh-"

He comes just as Alexander bites his lower lip, groaning in a fashion that would definitely embarrass him if Alexander wasn’t keening even louder, working himself down onto Thomas through the aftershocks of the orgasm. (There is one disturbing quelching sound that both of them studiously ignore.) Thomas collapses into Alexander, somehow manages to get a shaking hand between their bodies, and grips Alexander tight. "So good for me, Alex, you’re amazing, fuck, come for me, _mon chaton_ , come for me."

"Yes," Alex chants as he thrusts into Thomas’ hand, the tip of him poking Thomas in the stomach repeatedly. "Yes. Yes. Yes, Thomas, fuck-"

His cum is hot on Thomas’ abs, and the way every part of Alexander clenches and then promptly unclenches has both of them falling backwards into the pillow, losing their upright position. Thomas slips out of Alex and his gradually waning erection bounces off of Alexander’s ass cheek with a smack.

It’s too absurd not to laugh, and they spend a good minute or two giggling into each other’s necks and mouths as they trade breathless, open-mouthed kisses. It takes them a while to muster the energy for clean-up, and Thomas has to actually carry Alexander to the bathroom as the man clings to him like a particularly needy panda, but they manage to check off the most basic points and then collapse back into bed, tangled up in one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The FACTS:  
> -Timothy Pickering was Quartermaster General during the Revolution and an Anglophile in later years, especially in the post-ham period, like how he was very Anti-France during the Napoleonic Wars etc. He became a Senator after his time as Secretary of State ended & opposed TJEFFS Embargo Act. So, he didn't like Adams much, but he wasn't a Jefferson fan either. Fun Fact: His Family house, built in 1651 was the house that stayed in An American Family for the longest time, until 1990, when it presumably changed hands. They also named a ship after him which was lost near Sicily (where I just returned from) during WWII  
> -I cry my love for Adrienne de Noailles. Not only did she follow her husband into Prison after she couldn't arrange his release (she even wrote to Washington, whose Hands were sadly tied), but when the Committee for Public Safety seized his property she tried to bargain the freedom of the fifty-or-so slaves Gilbert had purchased in a misguided but well-intentioned attempt to see if Slavery could gradually be abolished. What she arranged was that the families could at least stay together. Also, I cry some more when I think About the fact that she was the only one of her Family to survive the Revolution, because America intervened for her once she was imprisoned. (This imprisonment Happening before she joined gilbert in Prison, i.e. in France instead of German territory like Gilbert.) Her mother, sister and Grandmother were all executed ONE week before Robespierre was deposed. You can't write that kind of tragedy. I love Adrienne :((  
> -AHAM was super stingy about his background & very insecure about his station in life + references to his childhood stuff. He never once saw his father or brother again after stepping foot on US soil, though he did write letters. By contrast he did jump at the opportunity to improve relations with the scottish noble side of his family - though that was fruitless in the end. 
> 
> The FRENCH:  
> -Je suis si hereuse de te voir - I'm so happy to see you  
> -Moi aussi, Adrienne, tellement, néanmoins c'est plutôt surprenant. Je n'ai pas anticipé ta présence ici -> So am I, Adrienne, really, still it's rather surprising, I didn't anticipate your presence here.  
> -Comme je le souhaitais -> As I wished it.  
> -Oh, Gilbert, tu m'as manqué, tu ne peux pas l'imaginer -> Oh, Gilbert, I missed you, you can't imagine it.  
> -Oh, mais si souvent je t'ai vu en rêve, ma petite -> Oh but I saw you in my dreams so often, my 'small one' (which is the literal meaning, but its just like an endearment)  
> -Sans aucun doute -> without a doubt  
> -De plus, je t'en dois une, pour prendre soin de mon petit ami pendant mon absence. -> Also, I owe you one for taking care of my partenaire during my absence. (French is a very tough language for non-binary stuff :/)  
> -Le francais, comme l'allemand, ce n'est pas tellement utile pour les gens comme Gilbert, déplorablement -> French, like German, isn't really useful for people like Gilbert, sadly.  
> -Les circonstances ne sont plus les mêmes. Alex sort avec quelqu'un couramment -> The circumstances aren't the same anymore, Alex is going out with someone currently.  
> -Tu ne m'en as pas parlé, ma belle -> you didn't talk to me about it, my beautiful  
> -t'aimes quand je fais ca? -> Do you like it when I do that?  
> -Je te veux si fort que ca me dechire -> I want you so bad its tearing me apart  
> -Ca te donne envie de baiser? -> Does it make you wanna fuck?  
> -doigte-moi, je t'en supplie -> finger me, I beg you.  
> \- je veux te monter -> I want to ride you (which is fun, because montrer means to climb, and that would also have fit...I was indecisive.)


	4. An open letter to the fat, arrogant, anti-charistmatic national embarrassment known as President John Adams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go, guys.  
> I'm... a little insecure about this, mostly because it doesn't feel like a lot of people are still reading this, but then I thought, you know what??? Those that do read it probably actually want to know how this continues - so here you go. c: I hope you enjoy it.

Thomas wakes up spooning Alexander, both of them only partly covered by his sweat-and-cum stained sheets. Those definitely need a wash. The noise of the bustling street outside puts the time closer to noon than morning, and a quick look at his alarm clock tells Thomas they just passed 11 AM. It isn’t so bad. He puts his nose to Alexander’s neck and breathes deeply, then decides that while he likes the olfactory evidence of their coupling, both of them definitely need a shower. Soon. 

"Hey," Thomas kisses Alexander’s shoulder, waiting for the younger man to stir awake. He is treated to a cat-like stretch from a fucked-out Alexander, grinding his ass back against Thomas.  It is followed immediately by a yawn, and the rustle of sheets as Alexander turns around in Thomas’ arms to face him.

"Good morning," he whispers softly, wrinkles his own nose. "I’m going to need to brush my teeth and have a shower, and I remember someone promising to run to the store to get me shampoo if only to get me into bed."

He had made that promise, hadn't he?

"Demanding," Thomas grins, pressing a kiss to Alexander’s forehead and untangling their limbs. "I am a man of my word, so I’ll be right back, and then I can get you acquainted with my shower, yeah?"

"I might fall asleep again," Alex warns, every languid movement working to further entangle him in the sheets. It's almost comical that Alexander cannot stop moving, even if his mouth is, for once, lagging behind. 

"I think I can rouse you to alertness again," Thomas winks as he slips into sweatpants and a lose t-shirt. Alexander stares at him.

"Great, now I’m going to be thinking of you walking around with your dick just flapping around in those sweatpants. Damn." Alexander licks his lips and Thomas decides to make this trip as quick as it can be. He's got great incentive, after all. 

+

He returns after twenty minutes to find Alexander at his kitchen counter, sipping at a cup of presumably coffee and nodding towards his apparently empty box of grounds.

"You’re out of coffee," he offers his most guileless smile. Thomas’ eyes may or may not get caught on Alexander’s neck, and torso, covered all over by possessive marks with large range of shape and intensity. A night’s work, he thinks with an odd sense of pride. He hasn’t looked at himself yet, but the checkout girl raised her eyebrows, so he is willing to bet Alex gave as good as he got.

There are certain people - James among them - who consider hickeys juvenile, but it makes Thomas feel incredibly warm to see proof of last night on Alexander. That's where his lips were, that's where they stayed, that is where they will return. Its a nice feeling. 

"We can go and have more coffee and breakfast after the shower, hm?" Thomas takes the empty cup out of Alexander’s hands and herds him towards the bathroom. It doesn’t take them long to lose the sparse amount of clothes both men put on in an effort to convey decency. They still almost trip over last night’s clothes twice. As predicted, its another thing that makes Thomas smile. 

Thomas gives Alexander a brief rundown of how his shower works, because he knows he hates having to figure out other people’s showers, and then kisses Alexander until the water temperature is perfect. He works the shampoo he got for Alex into his hair and lets him rinse it out, and then they smother themselves in whichever product Alexander chooses from his two shower caddies, filled with various stuff that he's into right now. It’s nice to take care of Alexander this way and be taken care of in return, and they kiss sporadically under the warm spray.

"No shampoo?" Alexander asks, surprised when Thomas hands him a bottle of conditioner so that the man can reciprocate.

"Next time," Thomas explains, cupping Alex’s chin gently and kissing him, "I alternate between regular wash days and co-washing. It’s complicated. I’ll tell you all about it when we aren’t wasting the planet’s precious resources."

Alexander, for his part, looks immensely pleased to get so much insight into something as mundane as Thomas’ routine. He doesn't even make a snide comment about the range of products, which is surprising, to say the least. Thomas had been more than steeled for that. 

+

Anna gasps excitedly when she sees them come into 'The Revolutionary Coffeenant' hand in hand, already beginning to prepare their orders with a huge smile on her face. She smacks them down on the counter with a loud, heartfelt declaration of: "Oh G _esu, Maria e Giuseppe_ , _non ci posso credere_...On the house, _per voi due stronzetti_."

It has been a while since Thomas took a refresher course in Italian, but even so he is fairly certain they just got insulted. 

"Is that a way to talk to paying customers?" Alex shakes his head mock-reproachfully, attempting to stuff a ten-dollar bill into the tip jar when Anna slaps his hand away. " _Fa male_ , Anna, _fa male_." 

"You’re not paying today."

"Feisty," Alex winks, reaching for his coffee none-the-less. "Can I at least pay for the three muffins I’m about to order?"

"I’ll let it slide," Anna gives in, nodding towards the tip jar. "What about you, TJ?"

" _TJ_ ," Alexander snorts, earning himself a sharp, moisturized elbow to the side. He’s wearing one of Thomas’ old basketball shorts and particularly tight shirts, but both are still a little big on him, and it feels good to see him wearing it, nice and cozy. It feels right.

+

Monday morning at the office has him smiling into his coffee like the idiot Anna claims he is. His shirt is buttoned up high enough to cover most of the evidence of Friday night, and make-up recommended by Maria works excellently to cover up the rest. "I got you," Eliza had winked and called her girlfriend up when he met with all three Schuyler sisters for brunch on Sunday. Angelica and Peggy were unabashedly curious, but Eliza had sipped her mimosa and gently chided her sisters to respect Thomas’ privacy, practically beaming.

So, yeah, she definitely knows, but Thomas does not really mind. For the most part he feels unreal, emboldened by the fact that the sequel definitely lived up to and far exceeded the hype of the original act.

Which is why, when Albert bursts into his office unannounced and he spills his now mostly tepid coffee over his right leg, he isn’t mad – at first. Then Albert speaks.

"Adams just fired Tim, and Knox’s guy McHenry," he announces, out of breath from running. Odd, Albert usually avoids anything faster than a stroll at all times. "He chewed them out in front of the entire office floor. Didn’t even catch them doing anything, but apparently someone snitched-"

Thomas is already out of his chair, risking a brief glance at his pants and mourning their unfortunate demise, and walking by the time Albert has caught his breath. The three minutes it takes him to get to the breakroom where Adams is still fuming are enough to fan his anger into full flames.

Timothy is standing near the coffee machine, his personal coffee mug with the cartoon elephant in hand, looking shell-shocked.

"John," Thomas thunders, "Do you maybe want to tell me why I have to hear that you think you can just fire _my_ intern?"

McHenry, leaning against the wall behind Timothy and looking decidedly less intimidated, regards his nails with deliberate leisure, and adds: "I reckon Mr. Knox will have something to say about that as well when he gets back from lunch with Lucy."

It takes balls for an intern to refer to his boss's wife by her first name, but apparently McHenry just does not care for formality right now. 

"These two are part of the coalition that’s been salting and otherwise messing up my coffee," Adams rages.

"My god," Thomas raises an eyebrow. Were they really stupid enough to get caught? "Did you…happen upon them _in flagranti_ _delicto_? In that case, I’d like to remind you that you can request their suspension, not the termination of their contracts before they’ve run their course."

Timothy looks like he'd dearly like to argue that claim, even though when Thomas looks at him he knows they both know that Adams isn't wrong. It's unfortunate. 

"He asked me to help him with the coffee machine," Timothy speaks up, finding his voice again after clearing his throat, "And when I showed him how to switch out the water he accused me of having it out for him."

It's a good deal better than Adams catching him at it, thankfully. It still isn't ideal. 

"They switched out the water in the coffee machine a few weeks ago for vinegar. It has to have been someone who knew how to operate the coffee machine."

Tense silence for a few seconds, then an annoyed Angelica, up until now painting her nails at one of the tables, speaks up: "Practically everyone on this floor knows how to work the coffee machine. If you’re going to fire these young men, leave them their dignity and do it in private like a respectable person."

"He can’t fire my intern," Thomas crosses his arms, "That is not his prerogative."

"The President of the company can-"

"You are _acting_ president, John," Thomas seethes. "By all means, try and suspend him. Unless you can prove he did what you claim he did, I will rehire him when his contract runs out. He’s an asset."

Where is Edmund Randolph when you need him, goddammit?

It is unfortunate, because Thomas knows for sure that Timothy and the other interns have been up to something, probably up to exactly what Adams claims. He should have put a stop to it weeks ago, as soon as he found out, really. But he didn’t, because admittedly he enjoyed watching Adams suffer just a little bit. He felt like the man deserved it. It’s his fault that he didn’t step in earlier, and now he supposes he owes it to Timothy to try and make sure he doesn’t lose his job over something he definitely condoned.

It is…quite a bind. And this isn’t the kind of screaming match he wants to have with Adams in front of half the company.

"Why you-" Adams begins, gearing up for another rant, but Thomas shakes his head and nods towards the corridor where both their offices find themselves situated close to.

"Go home, Timothy, I’ll have someone call you once this is resolved."

+

When he enters Alexander’s office shortly after lunch time, seething with anger, he inadvertently interrupts Alexander and Laurens tossing pistachios into each other’s mouths across the desk. John startles and starts coughing, so Thomas obliges and slaps him on the back until one half of a pistachio is hacked back up onto Alexander's desk. 

John looks at him, noticeably flinching at how angry Thomas must look. It takes a lot, to get Thomas to lose his composure, but Adams finally managed it. 

"Oh shit, man," John gets up and seems to attempt to make a peaceful gesture, as though Thomas were a wild beast, to be intimidated by slightly raised arms, "Whatever you think Alex did, it isn’t that deep."

Both men glance at Alex, who remains in his chair, arms folded over his body, looking less like he's expecting a screaming match - probably because Alexander knows no game-changer in their relationship could have come up since Saturday - and more like he's trying to see if the pistachios will double for popcorn in the event that what follows turns out to be entertaining. 

"What?" Thomas furrows his brow. "No, I’m here to look for you. Adams just tried to fire my intern without my permission. HR is going to have to step in."

It’s a very plausible lie. John sighs, world-weary. "Alright, alright, I’ll go see what I can do. Just- You two try not to kill each other before my wedding, okay? I kinda need my best man alive and kicking."

John leaves, imploring Alexander with a firm look and two fingers signaling ‘I’m watching you’, before he closes the door behind him. Alexander stares back at John like he's slightly annoyed but also amused.. Thomas locks the door, deliberately, and turns back around to take in at a still gaping Alex, speechless for once.

"Have you ever considered what a shithole this place could turn into if Adams ever gets the opportunity to grab for more power?"

"Why’d you lock the door, Thomas?" Alexander finally asks, tongue darting out to wet his lips. And just like that Thomas is across the room, pulling Alexander out of his chair and against his chest, kissing him ferociously and lifting him onto the desk, maybe or maybe not crushing some stray pistachios in the process. He steps between Alexander’s hips, tilts his chin up and continues kissing him like there is no tomorrow. Alexander reciprocates for a while, although Thomas can practically feel the confusion in the furrowed brows and twitching lips. When he reaches a hand out to Alexander's buttons, it ends. 

"Hey, whoa, stop," interrupts Alex as he leans away. A hand on Thomas’ chest puts distance between them, just enough to make breathing possible again but not enough to carry a bitter sting of rejection with it. "You’re mad at Adams. Don’t take it out on my mouth."

"Wha-?"

"I am not an outlet for your frustrations. That is not what I want."

It takes Thomas a few breaths to figure out what Alex means. He deflates. "Sorry," he murmurs. "Of course I don’t think you’re a means to an end, Alex, promise. I just got caught up in my head and didn't think it through completely - just, wanted to kiss you, I guess."

"Thank you for apologizing, I forgive you," Alexander whispers, leaning upwards a little to press a soft kiss to the corner of Thomas’ mouth. It makes Thomas smile.

"I think, no, I definitely want to put the – this on the list of things that aren’t allowed during office hours, that, you know, you're not allowed to come devour me if we're on the clock," Alex decides. Thomas nods.

"But, dear Alexander, if you insisted that such an agreement means I get a veritable spam of lascivious texts at 5PM on the dot, can I take that to mean that I can march in here at that precise minute and lure you away from dreaded overtime by using my wiles?"

"I mean, you can try," Alex grins. Thomas bends down and gives him a kiss, conciliatory. It feels like they're alright. Thomas likes that feeling. 

"Did he try and fire Oliver too?"

"No, but Oliver informed me that someone apparently tipped Adams off in regards to Pickering and McHenry. He was rather upset, but as my assistant he is somewhat more secure. They're trying to find out who snitched. I’d guess Albert is pretty relieved as well to be off the hook, huh? "

"Truthfully he mostly seemed concerned."

"They haven’t even been doing anything in recent weeks," Alexander frowns. "Not since the water switch. I took Albert aside and made clear that while I appreciated the ingenuity, I'd prefer it if the group could go back to focusing on work, at least while Adams remains acting President."

It says a lot about Thomas' now seemingly perpetual state of distraction that Alexander was the one who stepped up and told his assistant to keep it professional.

"I just hated the presumptuousness of it. It would have been different if Adams had just taken Timothy aside and informed him he shouldn’t come back until his contract ran out. But he had to go ahead and scream at him in front of the entire break room."

Alexander overtly cringes. Thomas rubs circles into his thigh, partly to distract himself and partly to smooth that look away.

"Well, as you said, HR is going to get involved. Randolph made the terms of the contracts clear. I can’t imagine Adams will be happy."

"Washington is returning in a little over a month though, so at least there is that to look forward to. Man, never thought I’d say that," Thomas lets out a low whistle.

"I thought you liked him."

"I think he’s a good employer. There is a difference."

By the end of the day, the dust seems to have settled. HR sends out a mass e-mail informing the company of the basis of the contracts and that whether or not the accused interns are to be suspended remains up to their immediate employers, i.e. their department heads. Thomas exhales and delegates Albert to inform Timothy of the good tidings. Albert smiles and breaks out one of his coveted Swiss chocolates for both of them, but the day feels like a hollow victory, truth be told. The screaming match with Adams definitely tore things between them for good, he knows. Well, Thomas considers, things would have gone to shit as soon as he and Alex disclosed their liaison anyway. He can’t imagine Adams wouldn’t have his share of comments on that. 

Shortly before the end of the day, an e-mail from Edmund Randolph is sent to all department Heads that he has decided to take the time remaining until his official leave starts off, and telling them to decide on one of his four proposed replacements until he returns.

_To: Alexander_

_Thomas: Do you kind of feel like we’re coming apart at the seams?_

_Alexander: We as in the company or we as in WE?_

_Thomas: Company, sorry._

_Thomas: Should have made that clearer._

_Thomas: Didn’t mean to scare you._

_Alexander: Washington told me about Randolph leaving a while ago, wasn’t really a surprise._

_Alexander: He’ll be back._

_Alexander: What do you think of the replacements?_

_Thomas: I like Breckenridge. I’ve worked with him before._

_Alexander: Big issue with his personal details though._

_Thomas: What is it???_

_Alexander: Look at his first name._

_Alexander: Actually no, guess what it is. Just guess. Do it._

_Thomas: It better not be John!_

_Thomas: Fuck it all._

_Alexander: I like Bradford & Washington agrees, but Adams is pushing pretty hard for Lee. _

_Alexander: He’s related to Harry Lee, you might remember working with him ages ago. He was still there when I interned._

_Thomas: I remember Harry. Don’t know Charles._

_Thomas: What about Levi Lincoln? VERY Good resume._

_Alexander: Are you for real?_

_Alexander: We are not fighting this out over text. Omw rn Thomas I stg u better have convincing arguments lined up and ready 4 me._

+

Adrienne invites Thomas to a late lunch with her, and as they wait for Gilbert to join them she chats to him about _n’importe quoi_. In this case, apparently that means the state of his neck, which she can see now that he has foolishly unbuttoned the top of his shirt and loosened his tie for the day.

"Congratulations, Thomas," she grins after she puts down her bowl of Kale-Mushroom-Quinoa Salad with Pomegranate dressing and various extras onto the table, shoving Thomas’ own order of an only slightly less complicated salad towards him.

"Whatever for?" He has a sip of the homemade ice tea this place sells and considers taking Alex here sometime. He imagines the man might scoff at the concept but secretly, begrudgingly, admire their attempts at showing what a sustainable food industry could look like.

Adrienne points her fork at Thomas’ neck and shows her teeth, snapping at him. Thomas berates himself for his foolishness in having chosen to appear a little _plus légère_. He fumbles for a bit as for what to say, but then Gilbert arrives, breathlessly pressing a kiss to Thomas’ cheek and two firm but short ones to Adrienne’s brow and lips. " _Bonjour_ , my loves," they announce, looking somewhat harried.

"Oh, I don’t like that look on you, Gil," Adrienne admits, pushing the sandwich she got for them towards their seat. Gilbert takes a while to straighten out their blazer - half of an earring is caught in the fabric - and then they hurry to explain. 

"I was caught up in a business call with  _Maximilien et Camille_ for a while longer than intended, _désolé_. There are a few, uh, issues, back home, _apparement_."

"Issues?" Thomas inquires politely.

"Financial problems, mainly, as I understand it. _Monsieur Capet_ has announced several lay-offs, and now it has come to life that he has given out a few pay raises, including to himself. Some of the employees are, _ben_ , how to best put this, _ah, oui,_ calling for an investigation? Oui? To perhaps have him ejected from the company, _tu sais_?"

Adrienne spouts of sympathetic comments in rapid-fire French, and as they chatter more about it Thomas sends a silent thank you to the employees of W&A Insurance’s sister company, for giving Adrienne something else to focus on. He is grateful.

+

The club he ends up arriving at to celebrate John & Hercules’ combined Stag Night, which is really just code for ‘night out with the boys and sisters’, is more bougie than he’d have expected, but he did end up listening to John, and then Alexander, talk and rant respectively about how excessively non-heterosexual he was trying to make the whole affair. He understands. He really does. If his father were still alive he might want to rub all the gay sex he and Alex plan on having in his face.

John and Hercules have some unsuspecting girl sandwiched between them on the dancefloor who is going to end up severely disappointed in a while, if Thomas is any judge of character. Hercules might be attracted to her, but John is definitely only attracted to the sight of Hercules grinding on someone.

"Hey," he whispers into Alexander’s ear in the semi-darkness of their table at the back. The man in question jumps, clutching a hand to his chest dramatically.

"Jesus Christ," he gasps. There's a slight sheen to his face and Thomas isn't sure if that is sweat or body glitter but he likes it either way. It gives Alexander a more transcendent look in the lights of the establishment.

"Ju-" Thomas starts in an airy voice and doesn’t get far.

"I swear to god if you dare say ‘just me’ right now I will throw my drink in your face. That is the worst and most overused joke in the entire world."

"You have very strong feelings about jokes, Alexander," Thomas grins as he leans against the table, raising his drink. "Where are the sisters?"

"Dancing. Peggy told your friend Stephen she’d be here, he just arrived. That is definitely going somewhere."

He nods in a direction which Thomas' eyes follow, and finds Peggy's hips grinding against Stephen's, both of them grinning. Thomas is fairly self-aware and therefore knows that if he were to attempt dancing of such a nature he would more than make a fool of himself, but a sharp stab of longing goes through him anyway. Maybe he can persuade Alexander to try something like that out at home, and make the guy sign a contract not to laugh at him until he gets the hang of it - if such a thing can even be imagined. 

"Bit young for her, isn’t he?" Thomas tries to do the math in his head. That’s like six years, at least, right? To his side, Alexander snorts out a laugh, and Thomas furrows his brows until he stops. 

"Do you-" Alex’s eyes widen. "Do you not know how far apart _we_ are?"

"Of course I know," Thomas lies, terribly, giving his game away immediately. Alexander guffaws.

"Oh my god, you don’t know how old I am."

"You’re younger than me," Thomas guesses, narrowing his eyes. He's definitely sure on that. Alexander's birthday is the 11th of January, he remembers that as well. But when was Alexander born?

"Oh, very well spotted, I know I don’t look it," Alexander snorts, tipping his beer bottle back and drinking deep. Thomas may or may not get distracted by the way his throat works. That is to say, he definitely gets distracted, but he tries not to make it too obvious and thinks he doesn't completely fail at that. 

"Is this a trap? It feels like a trap," Thomas narrows his eyes. Alexander’s face softens.

"I’m not going to make you guess. I am just very, very amused. Ask me."

"How old are you?"

"Just about eight years younger than you, Thomas. I’m twenty-seven." Alexander’s tongue runs along the front of his teeth. Thomas gapes.

" _Fuck_ , really?"

Even John is older than that, somewhere closer to thirty, he thinks. As he gets older, accurate numbers in regards to age just lose their importance. Hercules, he saw in the wedding details, is quite close to Thomas’ age.

"Bit too late for such realizations. Hardly illegal, is it?" Then, a bit quieter: "Is that an issue for you?"

"Of course not," Thomas reaches for Alexander’s hand and squeezes. "I just feel stupid for never bothering to ask, honestly. Just don’t go around calling me ‘old man’ or what-not."

"Oh, but now that you’ve enlightened me to the possibilities of-"

"Last warning, Alex," Thomas issues a stern reminder.

"What are you going to do if I don’t heed your warning?"

The tone is oddly provocative, and Thomas really doesn't know what to think of the way that Alexander is smiling around the mouth of his bottle as he tips it back. That damn throat. 

"Are you _looking_ to get punished? Because, I gotta tell you, I haven’t really explored anything close to that, and we- Oh, what is it?" Thomas stops because Alexander is laughing at him.

"You’re so fucking adorable. I was kidding."

Gilbert and Adrienne coordinate to somehow bring a tray full of tequila shots to their table. The rest of the party gathers around them swiftly afterwards and cheers on the happy couple as they do some stellar pioneer work in the creative tequila shot department. John takes the shot out of Hercules’ mouth after licking salt off his lips. It gets points for showmanship but little for finesse, as half the shot drips down their chins. Masters of the pre-game, they are already too far gone and much too busy smiling at one another to care much. Thomas suspects Hercules, being a tailor of superfine cloths, might be in a snit tomorrow, but for now he is happily buzzed and making doe eyes at John. 

Someone upends Alex’s empty beer bottle on the circular table they stand around and it turns into a game of ‘Body-Shot-Spin-the-Bottle’, or, as Laurens screams cheerfully: "BSSB, it’s a fucking _palindrome_ , that’s what I’m talking about!"

Eliza takes a shot out of Adrienne’s collarbone. Gilbert takes a shot by licking a long stripe of salt from Alexander’s sternum, announcing, " _Mon Ami_ , your taste is always so uniquely intoxicating, _sais-tu le_?"

There is also, said in more quiet tones: "Oh, _mais c'est quoi, ca?_ Alex, were you in a car crash or is this the result of _les_   _grandes passions de l'amour_? _Je ne_ _peux plus voir ta peau douce, mon ami, seulement un mille de su çons._"

Alexander awkwardly pats Gilbert on the shoulder and whispers in return, " _Je l'expliquerai plus tard, d'accord_?"

Angelica takes a shot by licking the salt off the back of Gilbert’s hand. "You see, Angelica, this hollow when I stretch my thumb back, the anatomical word for it is _le Tabatière_ , because that is where _les gens_ used to take their intoxicants from. It is very fitting that we apply it so, for we also aim for it _cette nuit, non_?"

The bottle lands on Thomas. Then the bottle lands on Alex. There is initially reluctant egging on from everyone around them that by virtue of mob mentality is turned into loudly bellowed requests and the lewdest of suggestions as for where the shot should be taken from, courtesy of Peggy. Eliza looks unspeakably smug and Maria leaning into her side looks rather expectant.

"Where do you want me to lick you, Jefferson?" Alexander raises an eyebrow, smirking at him.

By now he is fairly certain most everyone at this table knows about the drunken hookup of ages past. That’s the primary reason for the badly disguised chortles and giggles. The other reason, he suspects, is the way his face must look as Alexander poses the question. He offers Alexander his palm with a haughty look. Alexander maintains eye contact as he gets the skin nice and wet. He sprinkles some salt onto it, inspecting his handiwork carefully. Then he tempts Thomas into taking ahold of the lemon wedge with his lips.

Like an expert, Alexander then proceeds to lick his palm and makes it feel like half a blowjob for the two seconds it takes, before he slams the shot back and finally takes the lemon wedge out of his mouth – with his teeth. The table is stunned for just a few seconds before it erupts into cheers and the game carries them all further into intoxication.

Pretty soon everybody retreats to the dancefloor, and he catches Alexander glance at it longingly. Earlier it had been Thomas who had felt its pull, but he thinks they can do something about that right about now, with everyone distracted. 

"Come with me," Thomas leans close to whisper-shout into his ear. Alexander lets himself be willingly lead out the back door. They land in a sparsely furnished corridor of the club, mostly deserted, which leads to the storage rooms and thankfully not the toilets, because Thomas doesn’t want to run the risk of someone catching them at it. He hopes this is the path least traveled by all the dancing drunkards. 

"I want you so much, Alex," Thomas tells him as he pays special attention to Alexander’s wonderful neck and chest. There are still traces of salt - either sweat or salt that Gilbert didn't manage to lick of entirely in their ever-progressing state of intoxication. The music continues to blast in the background, but it becomes a faint, bass-heavy noise as the sounds Alexander produces draw him in tighter and tighter and obscure anything else that might compete for Thomas' attention.

"Thomas," Alexander exhales his name like a prayer and Thomas is ready to grant any wish that might fall from those lips. He turns sideways to shield the sight of Alexander’s body from anyone possible finding the same deserted corridor a temptation and accidentally approaching them, and cups him through his jeans. "Fuck-" Alexander grins that same dopey smile Thomas admired the last time they got it on, his neck bared and proudly displaying all the remnants of their time together. He loves it beyond reason. Screw easing into it, he thinks. That grin alone is enough to move whole worlds. Who is he to resist its call?

"Come on, Alex," Thomas whispers, marking Alexander’s neck a more uniform, pretty purple color and nibbling on his earlobe. "Get yourself off against my hand. Come on. I saw you look at me while licking my hand. You want this, don’t you?"

"So badly," Alex agrees, fervently nodding as he rubs himself on Thomas’ palm. The very same palm he licked earlier, both of them must realize and moan. His hips, so narrow and elegant, thrust forward desperately, with no proper sense of direction, nothing guiding him but a need for more. It isn't long before he vocalizes it. 

"Please, Thomas - " Alexander gasps, twitching. One of his hands digs into Thomas' shoulder as though it is all that is keeping him afloat. "More, please, I need-"

"Come for me, _mon chaton_ , I want you to."

Thomas presses closer, offering Alexander his thigh as an alternative, and the sight of Alexander coming into his pants, the shape of his mouth, everything about him, leaves Thomas breathless. He pushes against Alex, both of them held up by the wall. 

"That's going to get really gross in a few minutes," Alexander whispers as they trade open-mouthed kisses. 

"What, kissing?"

"No," Alexander shakes his head, but it looks a beat too slow, as though the haziness of his mind hampers the movement just a little. There's a grin: "The jizz leaking out of my boxers."

"I see," Thomas sighs melodramatically. 

"Can you see it?" Alexander, drunk, worries. 

"Your jeans are fairly dark. We might want to avoid blacklights though."

"We?" Alexander grins, eyes flitting downwards, "Is your penis sperm-incontinent, old man?"

"I'm not _that_ old, if you want me to share your plight you're going to actually have to put in some work," Thomas rolls his eyes. It makes Alexander laugh, and that sight is too pretty to stay mad at. 

"You’re coming home with me later," Thomas kisses him.

Alexander smiles and nods. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The FACTS  
> -John Adams fired Timothy Pickering by screaming at him for a long time, and then he fired McHenry. He didn't fire Oliver though, for some reason. The reason for firing them wasn't that they were pranking him though, rather he was accusing them of basically being treacherous - which, I mean, not TECHNICALLY, but they did ask AHAM for lots of political input even though AHAM was by then a private person and just doing his law stuff left right and center.  
> -Attorneys General after Edmund Randolph & therefore the replacements considered in this fic:  
> 1\. William Bradford, appointed by GWASH, not the one from TURN, that one was an AMC original character as far as I know.  
> 2\. Charles LEE - not the one from the war though, this one bears no relation to the infamous musical one but to another WAR General Harry 'Light Horse' Lee, appointed by: GWASH and kept by Adams  
> 3\. Levi Lincoln - appointed by TJEFFS  
> 4\. John Breckenridge - appointed by TJEFFS, in here because I haven't talked about a historical John in SO LONG.  
> \- Who could the Maximilien and Camille that Gilbert talks about be? Come on you guys, guess. c: It gives you a clue as to where I see this fic going  
> \- in reality TJeffs and AHAM were twelve years apart. I shrunk the age difference A LITTLE. John Laurens was also some years older than HAM & Hercules was definitely older, that dude was born in 1740. It's just odd to imagine because Daveed Diggs, Anthony Ramos and OAK are ALL younger than LMM, I think. 
> 
> The FRENCH:  
> n'importe quoi - whatever  
> plus légère - lit: more light, but fig: more relaxed  
> sais-tu le? - do you know that?  
> -les grandes passions de l'amour - the great passions of love  
> \- je ne peux plus voir ta peau douce, mon ami, seulement un mille de sucons -> I can't see your soft skin anymore, my friend, only a thosuand hickeys  
> \- je l'expliquerai plus tard, d'accord? -> I'll explain it later, ok?  
> \- cette nuit -> this night
> 
>  
> 
> The ITALIAN: be wary that I am only moderately good in Italian, so there might have been mistakes made. I try.  
> \- Gesu, Maria e Giuseppe -> Jesus, Mary & Joseph  
> -non ci posso credere -> I can't believe it  
> \- per voi due stronzetti -> for you two little shits, basically  
> \- fa male -> that hurts
> 
> i get sad without comments & wither c:


	5. Alexander said: 'I've nowhere else to turn', and basically begged me to join the fray.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Third Wedding happens & Things aren't all peachy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello :)  
> Another one of these installments over and done with - let me know if number four should happen & what you'd like to see.

Alexander frowns at his phone intensively, periodically checking to see if Thomas is still asleep on the pillow next to him. The sun has been mercilessly coming in through the lush curtains they forgot to close last night – it woke him up just about two hours ago, but Thomas seems immune to blinding light on his face. Sometimes it still gives him pause to see Thomas like this, like he has suddenly unlocked an absurd amount of intimacy with a man that up until a few months ago was the most perfect amalgamation of all things unattainable. Thomas is a gorgeous, successful, intelligent man - but Thomas also sleeps with his mouth open and drools onto his pillow. Thomas' nose twitches in his sleep, sometimes it looks like he is smelling something unpleasant. It makes Alexander grin whenever it happens.

It doesn't make sense that Alexander should get to witness such things, doesn't make sense that he is suddenly privy to the inner workings of Thomas Jefferson. And while other people might roll over and happily accept their luck, it makes Alexander suspicious. Before she died, his mother instilled in Alexander a firm belief, whether intentional or not, that good things only ever paved the way for the bad things yet to come. (Alexander has never been one to sit idly on his accomplishments – not that a relationship with Thomas is an accomplishment, per se, but still – precisely for that reason. He needs to keep climbing, add more onto that pile so maybe it won’t be as bad if some of them are taken away.) 

He is waiting for a bad thing he doesn't yet see coming. But that is not why he frowns at his phone screen. He huffs out a breath and types. 

_To: Heurgh-cules_

_Ahhhh-lex: Come on man_

_Ahhhh-lex: Pls?_

_Ahhhh-lex: We can make a whole boys’ day out of it? :(_

_Heurgh-cules: For the last time, Alex, I don’t have time to get tested for STDs with you today._

_Ahhhh-lex: :( But mother!_

Hercules is ice-cold in his following lack of response. Alexander does not realize he has not managed to keep his displeasure entirely quiet, because Thomas groans from beside him and thwacks him with a spare pillow. One of about ten Alex has to contend with on a nightly basis whenever he stays over. About five of them already scatter the floor on his side. He has systematically eradicated them as subtly as he can.

("What's wrong with my pillows?" Thomas had asked with a scowl when he had caught Alexander eyeing the bed with distaste. "Nothing is wrong with them, aesthetically speaking of each individual pillow, but I get the sense that you'd rather sleep with them beside you than me." At which Thomas had rolled his eyes, and consigned a singular pillow to banishment in the pillow closet. A compromise, laughable though it was.)

"There better be a reason you’re awake at ass o’clock," Thomas’ voice is muffled by the pillow he is half-buried in. Anyone else would look ridiculous, and yet Thomas manages to look appealing even as Alexander longs to take a photo of the drool stain. (Then he remembers no one technically knows that Alexander knows intimate details about Thomas' nocturnal habits, and that in itself is a blessing and a curse.)

"Is it ass o’clock?" Alexander’s hand travels beneath the covers and finds a quick path into Thomas’ briefs. "Mmh, looks like it could be, if you want it to be."

"I’m not saying I am not interested," Thomas starts off with, taking a deep breath beneath the pillow, "But seriously, what the fuck kind of hour do you call this?"

"Oh, you’re a grumpy boy without your caffeine, aren’t you?" Alex laughs as he pulls the cover away, straddling Thomas. It takes a little bit of acrobatics to get the essentials out of the nightstand. He hums a little as he works two fingers into his own body, scissoring them in a method he knows gets him ready quick and easy. Intrigued, one of the pillows lifts from Thomas’ face as he peers up at Alexander suspiciously.

"Excuse me? Have you met you without caffeine?"

"I hate me without caffeine," Alex agrees, rolling a condom onto Thomas and sitting on top of him. He goes easily, last night did a lot for them in terms of protracting the preparations for round number three. "But me on endorphins and oxytocin means the caffeine deprivation is almost entirely compensated."

"Bullshit," Thomas snorts. Nevertheless, he brings his hands to Alexander’s hips and keeps them there, content to let Alexander do the work as he begins to grind their bodies together slowly. He's feeling a little sore - it's a new thing for Alexander to bottom for someone regularly where he is normally a one-and-done in terms of submitting. He knows with all of his rationality that there is nothing inherently submissive about bottoming, but something else within him, something he thinks he might also carry with him from his childhood is always reluctant to give anyone the control that comes with the territory of letting them shove something inside of you.  

“Besides,” Alexander laughs to clear his head of the nagging thoughts that have been plaguing him, “If you don’t think I haven’t already gulped down two coffeepots before I slithered back into bed with you, you are sadly mistaken, _mon cher_.”

“Two _pots_?” Thomas asks for clarification, concerned and mildly horrified even as a gasp escapes. Someone is beginning to wake up, Alexander notes, pleased. He picks up the pace a little. 

“Maybe?” Alexander shrugs, distracting Thomas by playing with his nipples and coaxing out a moan and a twitch around Thomas’ mouth.

“Are you planning to drive me into financial ruin with your mindless consumption?”

Thomas will not be distracted that easily, a crying shame.

“Are you,” Alex interrupts his words to moan when Thomas’ hips snap up – _now_ they are getting somewhere – to meet him halfway, then tries again. “When are you heading into work today?”

“Same as you,” Thomas tells him as he slams Alexander back down onto him, the hands on his hips a powerful force. “I’ll drive you – fuck, ah, yes, Alex, fuck, _exactement comme ca_ – Drop you off a block away. How’s that sound?”

“Good,” Alex tries to nod; he thinks he does, at least.

+

"I made pancakes," Alexander kisses Thomas’ jaw sometime afterwards, before peeling his sticky body off of Thomas and heading for the shower. Thomas joins him in there after presumably completing his stretching routine. (Alexander hadn't been able to resist an old man comment then, because seriously, _who_ stretches every morning?)

They haven’t ever had shower sex before, out of all the sex they have been having over the last month, because Thomas actually views showers and personal hygiene as something he takes pride in, as opposed to Alex, who does it because society expects him to and also because alright, sometimes not doing it feels gross. He still maintains that showering every day isn't only not at all good for the earth's resources but also entirely unnecessary. (But letting Thomas know that is a task for the distant eventuality of moving in together - he shouldn't even be thinking of that, really.)

Today Thomas takes his time lathering up Alexander’s body, and it looks like he might take it further. He does, until Alex ruins it by opening his stupid mouth.

"Washington is back at work today," he blurts out, remembering that he got that text sometime last night after they went to see that new French film Thomas thought was riveting and Alex thought was pretentious. It isn't really sobering to realize they still agree on practically nothing, but rather it feels like things are settling between them. The hesitancy is dissipating, the arguments return with more force but less aggressive intentions. And even if the film in itself was terrible, the debate about it afterwards made the date worth it. Alexander likes a rhetorical challenge.

"Why," Thomas nips at his neck and tugs at his wet hair, "Are you thinking about our boss when I’ve got my hand around your dick?"

A demonstrative stroke of Thomas' thumb over the head of his cock. Alex wants to collapse backwards against Thomas. 

"We’ve been dating for a while," Alex says, promptly gets water in his mouth and throat, coughs it back up while Thomas pats his back helpfully. That puts an end to the potential shower antics of that morning.

"Are you going to tell Washington you want to leave in case this goes sour?" Thomas asks as he wraps Alexander in one of his unbearably fluffy towels, immediately guessing the direction Alexander is heading in. What that tells Alexander is that Thomas has also been thinking hard on that fact. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to postpone that conversation, because once postponed means further postponements are easily possible. He wraps the towel tighter around himself and wonders if he should be worried or relieved that Thomas has also contemplated their whole dilemma. None of the towels smell particularly new, all of them smell intensively of Thomas Jefferson - or rather of Thomas Jefferson's jasmine tea detergent - but they feel like newly purchased clouds, every single time. All of Alexander’s towels have been roughed up irrevocably in the wash. But these feel so nice it always makes him consider splurging on nice towels of his own. Or staying over at Thomas' more, though he suspects that has less to do with the fluffiness of the man's towels than he'd like to make himself believe. 

"I don’t want to leave," Alexander frowns.

"Neither do I," Thomas sighs, turning away to reach for his face wash.

"So that’s it? That is your idea of talking about it? Your idea of ‘having a conversation about issues that are important, Alex’?"

"Have some respect for my lack of caffeinated brain cells, will you?" Thomas rolls his eyes as he begins his unnecessarily long morning routine. Alexander waits impatiently until Thomas trots off to the kitchen and he trots off to get dressed. They’ve managed their coordination well enough so that Alex brings a change of office clothes to Thomas’ place. Because nobody knows about them. Right. 

Thomas in his equally fluffy beige bathrobe and thick-framed glasses is disarming. What is more disarming is how serious he looks. "Where do you see this going?" He asks Alexander between sips of coffee, a most hated question. Thomas has thought about this conversation. Thomas has most definitely prepared a script of the conversation in his head - various versions, if Alex is any judge of the man's character - because that is what Thomas does to feel confident. And now he is following a script. It makes Alexander antagonistic enough to want to throw a wrench in the conversational plans. 

"Why do I have to be the one to answer that question first?" Alexander crosses his arms. It’s childish. He knows what he wants from Thomas. He's a grown man so he should know to ask for it. But to admit it first means vulnerability, and there's already lots of that in the room. 

"I’ll answer it first, if you prefer. I like you Alex, I want this to last, but I don’t think we’re at a point where I’d tell my boss about you."

"Are you ashamed of this?" Alexander challenges, because sometimes when he is hurt he starts goading. He recognizes his behavior and still does not stop it.

Thomas sets his mug down and frowns at Alex, as if he were actually considering this. He pushes the glasses back up his face and clears his throat. "Alexander, I am not ashamed of you or of what we have. But we have been doing this for just about two months. How is that sufficient time to know this will last?"

"Newsflash, Thomas," Alex kicks his feet, looking probably a little petulant, "You never know for sure if something is going to last."

"I _know_ that," Thomas sighs, running a hand through his still-drying hair and mercifully not bringing up the dead wife Alex still knows pretty much nothing about. Though that is definitely a conversation that can wait, as far as he is concerned. Talking about the dead wife means the next step is talking about Alexander's dead relatives. No thanks. He's fine postponing that even further than the unbidden thoughts about moving in together. "It’ll always be a leap of faith-"

"No," Alex shakes his head, "It’s not a fucking leap of faith. It’s a promise of commitment, of vowing to work at it. It isn’t just about closing your eyes and jumping headfirst into the abyss."

"You’re not listening to me, Alex," Thomas scowls. "I’m saying I’m not ready to make this public. That doesn’t mean the willingness isn’t there. Of course I want to be out and about with you, but _not yet_. Frankly it is insulting that you seem to think so little of me."

"Excuse me? Insulting? Me wanting to make this official is _insulting_ to you?"

"No. You not respecting the fact that I’m not at that point yet is insulting. Don’t try and push me into this. It won’t end well for us."

Alex wants to retort something. The urge to respond, to hurl insults, to scream, is strong. Rationally he knows that Thomas is maybe right. But he put himself out there and it is painful to know that Thomas doesn’t seem to feel as strongly about this as he does. It makes him sick to his stomach. (Distantly, he thinks that Eliza would probably be very proud of how reflected he is being in his mind right now, even if he is ignoring the second part of the strategy she told him about when discussing fights in relationships, which is just acknowledging the emotions one is having and not judging.) He’s hurt, and he wants to curl up into a ball and cry, and Thomas definitely notices, because beneath his own defensiveness, there is concern.

"Alex-"

"No," he hisses, withdrawing when Thomas reaches out a hand.

"Alright," Thomas says, shaking his head sadly. "I’m getting dressed. You can wait in the car for me, or you can take public transport if you’d prefer some time to cool off."

Alexander choses the car and the entire commute to work is quiet enough to fill him with a sense of acute dread.

+

He ignores Thomas’ careful texts during work hours. He doesn’t ignore Thomas when he comes knocking on his office door at lunch time, because that’s unprofessional, since Thomas is using the pretense of a consultation to get his attention. Subversive.

"Mr. Hamilton asked not to be disturbed, sorry," Alexander hears Oliver say from in front of the door where he is taking his lunch with Albert, of all people. Those two have been getting on alarmingly well since the Adams-Jefferson showdown in the breakroom. 

(One time, Alex keenly remembers Adams stopping those two as they were on their way out of the door together, talking in hushed tones. 

"Have you got a problem with two guys going out to lunch together?" Oliver had asked, wide-eyed. 

Adams had snorted; "You two can't date."

"Why shouldn't two guys be able to go on a date?" Oliver had been about to cross his arms, when Albert had spoken up. 

"Don't worry Mr. Adams," Albert had managed to sound provocative without any inflection in his voice. "We always choose a girl to join us so that our dicks don't accidentally touch and we don't break company policy."

That had made Adams' face alarmingly red. They had left, and after a lengthy talk with Human Resources, they had both declared that what had been said had been said entirely in jest, that both of them were merely two friends tired of being harassed for spending time together. They had gotten off with a seminar on work-appropriate language.)

"It's important, Oliver," Thomas insists. Alexander knows that Thomas doesn't like leaving things unsaid. It must be messing with his productivity enough to drive him here. 

"What is that, a salad? Oh, you're not going to score any points with that," Oliver raises an eyebrow. 

"He told me he liked the place," Thomas returns, a little puzzled. 

"Just go inside, Mr. Jefferson," Albert says, " _Der hört eh die goanz' Zeit scho zu was ma sag'n_. The aggressive typing stopped as soon as he heard your voice."

Thomas seems to heed his assistant's advice.

"We have to talk about this eventually." Thomas sighs when Alex glances at the papers, gives his professional opinion, and asks if that will be all.

"Do we? I don’t think it has to be right now. I’m pretty hurt," Alex admits.

"So am I," Thomas exclaims, then holds his tongue. They stare at each other pretty intensely for another minute.

"Look, Thomas, the wedding is coming up and I have a million things to do. I can’t be fighting about this right now. John is picking me up to drive to South Carolina in about ten minutes to scout the location and prepare some more, you know that. It'll have to wait."

"I don’t see why it has to be a fight. Why can’t we talk about this normally? You don’t want to leave this company and I don’t want to leave this company. It makes no sense to disclose the relationship until we figured out how we want to proceed."

"Please, Thomas, not now," Alex insists, chewing on his lower lip maniacally. "You know well we won't be finding a compromise on this. Both of us love this place too much."

"You want to go into the wedding with this unresolved?"

"No, what I want is to not have to think about it, but alas, here I am, obsessing over the fact that this matters more to me than you."

"That’s cold and profoundly untrue, not to mention unfair," Thomas retorts, looking for the world like Alex just slapped him in the face.

"Sorry," Alex murmurs, already regretting his outburst. The salad box lands on his table, but Thomas takes his own portion and doesn't make to pull out the chair for himself.

"Thank you for apologizing," Thomas manages to get out, then excuses himself. Fuck, this isn’t good.

+

"If you don't like the idea, just tell me," John worries his lower lip, looking at Alexander expectantly. 

"It isn't exactly true to style for you, John. You hate having things on your lips. Gilbert left a lipstick print on you in college and you made them wash your dick for you because you were annoyed." 

Alexander very deliberately does not check his phone, because he doesn't know if it would make things better or worse to see that Thomas hasn't written him. At all. 

"The lipstick is a fuck you-"

"To your father, yes, I know, but try to remember that the day is about you and Hercules, not about your father."

"I'll wipe it off after the ceremony, then," John decides, and that is not where Alexander was going with this, but there is hardly ever a chance of changing the convictions of a man such as John. 

"I'll keep a napkin around for you," Alex sighs, going above and beyond his duties as best man. John leads him towards the water, where they sit side-by-side together. "Hey do you ever wonder why we never worked out?" 

He doesn't know why he thinks it’s a good idea to ask this question on the brink of his best friends' wedding, but the words tumble out. 

"You didn't want us to work out, Alex," John shrugs, beginning to roll what he would undoubtedly call medicine whereas the police would call it a ticket to jail. "I was crazy over you for a long ass time, but you said strictly casual and you stuck by it until Eliza came around. Gave us all some very good memories though."

"Look how that ended," Alex grumbles. 

"No hard feelings here, if that's what you're worried about," John glances at him sideways, voice slightly muffled by the tip between his lips. "You fucked me so good, Alex, but as a friend I love you way more, man." 

"Yeah, same." Alexander smiles, honestly. 

"Things over with your datemate, is that why you're asking?"

"It feels like they're heading there, yes, and I hate it. I want to hold onto him, John."

John sparks up, offers him the first drag. Alexander politely declines, but doesn't decline receiving the expulsion of John's first lungful. 

"And you think I have anything useful to say about relationships? After Francis I went straight to you and then Hercules. Not exactly a guru here."

"Maybe I just don't want to accept the fact that I am not made for relationships anymore. He makes me want to try."

"So follow wise Yoda's words and do instead of do not, _there is no try_."

"Some obstacles are insurmountable. Would you marry Hercules if it cost you the thing you love most?"

"Hercules is the thing I love most, though I suspect he'd take objections to being referred to a thing."

"Machines are things," Alexander points out, unsure how to continue without revealing Thomas' identity. John laughs and mumbles something under his breath about a ‘ _lean, mean, killing machine’_ and then something that sounds like ‘ _absolute unit’_ until he’s giggling to himself.

"Alright, so there are obstacles and you can't figure out how to mount them, you only know how to mount each other?"

"Basically," Alexander nods, snorting at the terrible joke. 

"What kind of obstacles are we talking about? Inanimate ones?"

"No, no, people ones."

"So try talking to the obstacles. In hypotheticals. My interns tell me your whole department is good at that."

“I didn’t know you had interns,” Alexander frowns.

“HR doesn’t have a Head to sit in on your dramatic little meetings, but we do get _some_ benefits, and cheap university labor is among that,” he grins. “I’ll introduce you to Tadeusz sometime. He’s my fave, gets the best stuff ever from his Polish dealer friend.”

“Of course…” Alexander shakes his head, fondly.

“Hey, Mordecai is riding my ass hard in HR with the whole Adams bullshit that’s been going down, and weddings make me nervous – my own even more so.”

Alexander hums his agreement, mind drifting off as they sit side by side. He could try talking to Washington. But he wouldn't want to do that without first informing Thomas. And he can't talk to Thomas right now. 

+ 

Somehow the thought of his fight with Thomas takes a backseat in Alexander’s mind as the final preparations keep him busy up until the night before the wedding. And then the morning of the ceremony rolls around, and Gilbert drags the four of them to the spa to get ready, and then Hercules and John kiss each other goodbye until they’ll meet again at the altar.

Soon enough Alex is standing behind John in the church, who is sporting the flashiest pink lip gloss and most exquisitely curled fake lashes as his hair is woven through with pink flowers, complementing the beautiful Henry-Laurens’-tailor original suit like they were intended to be together all along.

(And if Hercules thought it an affront that Henry Laurens insisted they use his tailor, he hasn’t let it show. Mostly he just seemed content to let John do his thing. “I just want to get married, man.” He’d shrugged when asked about it.)

Hercules enters the church with darker pink flowers decorating his ensemble, but a bit of sparkling gold eyeliner that his friend Cato the makeup designer must have added last-minute. Gilbert grins at John from across them, giving him a none-too-subtle _thumbs up_. John looks beyond excited, squeezing his thumbs in his fists as Hercules comes ever closer.

The ceremony is wonderful, the officiator is respectful, and though Henry Laurens looks somewhat displeased to have been outfoxed with the pink flowers Alex is fairly certain Hercules and John would not necessarily have added if the man hadn’t voiced his opinion in the first place, he respectfully holds his tongue and cheers for his son when he kisses his newly-made husband.

The actual party is held at Mepkin Estate, where Alex joined John over summer break consistently in University. The gardens, which used to include cotton fields, are vast and perfect, the weather plays along, and generally today should be a happier day for  Alexander as well, as he witnesses two of his closest friends promise to love and cherish one another until death does them part. He gets through his best man speech, makes the guests laugh, and does his job, with practiced ease. He even allows John to pull him onto the table in a rendition of the Karaoke Song they sang the evening they met Hercules. Or, more precisely, the evening John met Hercules.

(Alex met Hercules when he lodged with him after first coming to New York at the scrappy age of seventeen. Alex met John the day he moved into his dorm room, a year or so later, to find one bed already occupied by a gorgeous Junior boy who turned out to brazenly display a pride flag over his bed. "I’m bi, man, what’s good? Alex," he’d extended his hand and watched John’s face go from prepared for war to prepared to love and protect. John met Hercules as he was stumbling off the stage and into strong, broadly hammered out arms and an amused face, wondering: "Is this the friend you keep telling me about?")

Certainly they’ve loved one another since they met. And now, watching John lead Hercules into their first dance as a married couple, Alex asks himself if he regrets never starting anything serious with John. Maybe in another life they’d have had a realistic shot. Alex can certainly imagine spending the rest of his life with John. It’s just more pleasant to imagine that life also including Gilbert and Hercules. And he’s really happy for both of them, Christ, he’s so happy for them.

There are tears in his eyes though, and Gilbert leans their head on his shoulder and sniffles their agreement. "I know, _mon ami_ ," they sigh, "They are so beautiful. I am going to propose to Adrienne."

"Whatnow?"

"Of course not right now, _petit con_. After those two have danced and smiled to their heart’s content. I am not insensitive enough to, how you say, steal their thunder." A pause. " _Parce que_ , I would steal their thunder, we both know it. My proposal will surely blow her away."

"I’m glad." Alex squeezes their hand.

" _Merci._ I must say I am disappointed you did not show up with a date, Alex."

"We had a fight," Alex recounts, unable to hide his pain for too long. "I’m not even sure there’s an ‘us’ in the future, right now."

"Ah, that is why Thomas keeps looking like someone finally told him the purple suit does nothing for his eyes."

"What?"

"I was not going to say anything, but the red was clearly the superior suit, _tu sais que ce n’est que la verité_.” Gilbert waves their hand dismissively.

Alexander looks at them until they roll their eyes and relent: “I wanted to give _vous deux_ the opportunity to tell me yourselves, but, merde, _vous êtes vraiment_ – _têtus_? _C’est_ stubborn, _non_?"

"How’d you figure it out?"

"Adrienne did, _pas moi_. She has a better eye for such things," Gilbert hums, still resting their head on Alexander’s tense shoulders. "I love her."

"I am aware."

"Which is why I am going to go speak to her and make her aware of it, d _’accord_? Perhaps you should go find your love as well.”

Sometimes Gilbert makes too much sense to be argued against, but Alexander isn’t about to let them know that and watch smugness settle on their face like a second skin.

+

In the end Alexander does not go to find Thomas. Instead, Thomas finds him, sitting in the shade of one of John’s favorite childhood hiding places. (Not where they got high a few weeks ago, but a more secluded spot within the more forest-like parts of Mepkin.)

"If you’re hiding from me, consider the fact that I’ve known John since he was born," Thomas announces his presence, suit jacket discarded – definitely on a hanger somewhere, Alex thinks – and shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. The sun is beginning to set across the water, and Alex keenly feels the weight of his mistakes.

"I’m sure you could show me a hundred more intimate hiding places, Thomas, but please spare me the walk down memory lane right now."

"Dance with me," Thomas holds out his hand. Alex narrows his eyes at him.

"You’re a terrible dancer."

"Ouch," Thomas wrinkles his nose, but keeps his hand extended. Alex lets him pull him onto his feet, places a shaking hand on Thomas’ shoulder and allows Thomas to pull him in close with a hand that is indecently low on the small of his back. "So Gilbert has known about us for a while," Thomas hums as they sway to the sound of music drifting in from somewhere else on the estate, where the actual dancefloor is, where they aren’t dancing, because they are hiding. “They just came to tell me that you wanted to talk to me, but I think they might have just been meddling, now that I’m seeing your reluctance.”

"I’m sorry," Alex sighs. "I let my insecurities get the best of me and made unfair accusations. You didn’t deserve that. I fucked up."

Thomas hums some more, resting his chin on Alexander’s head thoughtfully as they drift closer together. "It hurt me," Thomas admits, "That you would accuse me of not being invested in this. Because I am – I’m quite serious about you."

"I lashed out and it was unfair of me, I’m sorry," Alexander repeats, because he isn’t about to offer excuses.

"Thank you, but what’s more important is if you believe me or not."

"I want to," Alex frowns when Thomas pulls away to look into his eyes. "I’m working on getting over my insecurities, but they are there, and it’s still hard for me to open myself up and then – and then," he stops, searching for words.

"Get shut down?" Thomas suggests. Alex nods. "I think I understand that."

They sway quietly for a while. Thomas even spins him once.

"So, verdict time: Is this still what you want?"

Alex takes a moment to think about it. It was a nasty fight. It hurt like a bitch to think that Thomas didn’t care. But they came out of it okay, didn’t they? Somehow Alexander managed to apologize, somehow Thomas still wants this. That alone is enough of a sign that they’re both willing to keep this going, isn’t it?

That is exactly what he’d been talking about in Thomas’ kitchen on a Friday morning that seems ages in the past now. The willingness to try and keep going. The promise of commitment.

He nods against Thomas’ chest, who grips him tighter, abandoning the dance hold in favor of an actual embrace. "I’m glad. So do you maybe want to go rejoin the party sometime soon?"

"Depends," Alex ponders. Thomas smells good, he likes lingering in that scent.

"On?"

"If you plan on taking me to your hotel room later or if I need to get my comfort for the night in right now."

"In that case we can safely rejoin the party. I have every intention of holding with tradition and taking you to my room after the wedding. Would feel wrong not to by now, wouldn’t you say?"

+

"Alex," an authoritative voice says behind him, slightly subdued by the ill effects of a plagued lung. He turns around, smiles pleasantly, and raises his glass of soda-masquerading-as-sparkling-wine in a toast. "Sir," he addresses Washington politely, then looks around for Martha, only to find her engaged in conversation across the room, with no hope of making this less formal. Drat.

("You invited your boss to your wedding?" Alex had gaped at John when he’d gotten a list of everyone that had RSVP’d. "I sure did," John had grinned, "Washington is the man. He said he’d get us a Thermomix. You can make pot brownies in a Thermomix, no effort. I may not know how to cook, but I _can_ bake." Hercules had looked at his fiancé with inimitable fondness.)

"Anything I can do for you?"

"Walk with me. I have something I want to discuss with you."

It’s not the oddest request Washington has ever made of him, no, that’d be the time he invited Alex out for dinner with him and Martha – which he apparently also did and still does very regularly with Gilbert – but it’s up there in the top five because of the wedding setting.

"John Adams has plans to take over the company, as I’m sure you know," Washington begins. "I was going to ask you how he did, but when I asked Mr. Jefferson he was sufficiently in-depth about the entire fiasco. He seemed rather convinced you would say much the same if I asked. I’m not certain he’d be received well."

"He’s not going to oust you out of the company presidency, that’s ludicrous-" Alex protests.

"I’ve been thinking of retirement with increasing longing in recent months, if you’ll permit me to be candid. Not to mention with everything going on in France…it’s not exactly inviting me to want to stay."

"What?"

"My health isn’t what it used to be, and neither is Martha’s. Mount Vernon is available for us and a comfortable future would await us," Washington explains. "Is it so selfish of me to want to spend the rest of my life in relative peace and just enjoy her and the dogs?"

"Of course not," Alex murmurs, "But, Sir, the company needs you. It’s a mess without you-"

"I’m not handing over the reins just yet, son," Washington placates him with a fond chuckle and Alex bites back yet another comment on how much that diminutive irks him.

"You’re welcome to visit us in retirement, I should mention. Martha is very fond of you. As am I," Washington offers, and for the first time Alexander doesn’t dismiss that offer out of hand.

"I’ll think about that once you actually retire."

"Ah yes, all for the sake of appearing professional," Washington muses. "I do value your integrity, Alexander. Very much."

"I – Thank you, Sir," he blushes.

"Which is why I’ll trust you not to mention my contemplations to anyone else, you understand? It’s a lot to ask, but this is obviously an extremely delicate situation and I wouldn’t want to upset anyone unnecessarily."

"Of course," Alexander vows, solemnly.

"Good. Now, I believe Martha asked me to tell you she’d like to be asked to dance by someone whose hip isn’t partially made of plastic."

"Sir?"

"She means you, if that wasn’t clear."

"No, no, it was clear. Crystal.”

+

Alex is dead on his feet by the time they make it back to Thomas’ hotel room. The alarm says something like Five AM, but his vision is a little hazy so it could be fooling him. His feet hurt. He did so much dancing. "So much dancing, Thomas," Alex repeats, louder. Thomas smiles.

"I saw," he assures him.

"Wanted to dance with you though. All night."

"Yeah? We did our fair share of dancing, what little I managed not to botch. It amused the happy couple to no end. Let’s sleep, hm? It’ll do both of us good."

By the time Alexander blinks back into the land of the living, Thomas has ordered room service and taken a long shower along with his ludicrously extensive skincare routine.

“Good morning,” he says, sitting on the bed next to Alexander and leaning in to give him a tender kiss with a smile. “Brush your teeth, you reek.” Thomas whispers when he breaks the kiss.

Alexander throws a pillow after him and Thomas laughs. Despite switching out his alcoholic beverages for mostly soda after the initial rounds, Alexander feels exhaustion deeply in his bones now. Thomas lets him nap on his chest as they watch terrible pay-per-view movies, even for a hotel as classy as the one Thomas booked.

“About disclosing this whole thing,” Thomas says, once Alexander has napped enough to be acceptably awake.

“It was dumb of me to try and force your hand in that, Thomas,” Alexander mumbles against his coarse chest hair. It’s stubbly. “You’re not ready, and we’re not getting anywhere in deciding what to do about making sure one of us is ready to leave.”

“That’s not what I meant to say,” Thomas tugs on his hair and Alex lets out a content noise he refuses to feel shame for. “I just think that Washington might be more receptive to this relationship than we initially thought. He talked to me at the wedding and told me with that annoying sparkle in his eyes that he’s glad we seemed to be getting on so well even without his guiding hand.”

“Did he?”

“He did,” Thomas muses. Alexander feels his smile against his skin and it sends goosebumps up his back, spreading across his arms.

“Then we better make sure to disclose this thing before Washington resigns,” he yawns.

Thomas scoffs. “Yeah, because that’s definitely going to happen.”

Conversations from last night come back to Alexander. Washington’s desire to leave had been apparent, so had been his request to keep silent about it. He can’t tell Thomas about what he found out. That would be breaking faith.

But who comes after Washington? What happens once the man disappears into retirement?

John Adams?

In that case they’d be better off quitting ahead of time. That doesn’t sit well with Alexander either. (He thinks about John describing Hercules as the most important thing in his life. He likes Thomas, certainly Thomas is very important to him now, but what about everything else he has clawed his way up to?) Is he supposed to throw it all away?

Thomas’ arms wrap around him tighter and he feels warm breath across his face as Thomas presses his lips to his forehead. He burrows into the touch with a guilty feeling lacing his stomach.

He swallows deeply, clears his throat before he answers: “Right.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the FACTS:  
> -Francis Kinloch: a Southern Gentleman in the Rice planting business who also got his education in Europe and stayed there until returning to the US of A. He had a thing with Laurens and what followed were some pretty heartfelt letters up until their 'breakup'...then again...Laurens did name his daughter Frances. I don't have a Laurens biography on my shelves yet, but I thought this was good: http://john-laurens.tumblr.com/post/145777622748/john-laurens-and-francis-kinloch  
> \- Tadeusz Kosciuszko was a Polish-Lithuanian soldier in the American Revolution & a friend of John Laurens, who rallied his troops and took over after the battle of the Combahee River that cost Laurens his life (also took over a secret intelligence ring John had been building.) I wanted to mention him cause he was pretty cool & he's now John's intern, to be met possibly in the future. He was also a close friend of TJEFFS and struggled against Russia (odd how you never think about the fact that Catherine the great also did her shit in that century...so much parallel history)  
> -Mordecai Gist was the General under whom Laurens served in the South towards the end, hence he is Laurens' superior in this & also its a cool name that I had to put in  
> -Mepkin was the Laurens family estate in South Carolina. Very pretty place.  
> the GERMAN:  
> \- der hört eh die goanz' Zeit scho zu was ma sag'n. -> he's already been listening to what we've been saying the whole time  
> the French:  
> -tu sais que ce n'est que la verité - you know its nothing but the truth  
> -vous êtes vraiment têtus - you're very stubborn
> 
>  
> 
> thank you to everyone who has stuck around. :) I appreciate all of you very much!

**Author's Note:**

> Please give me feedback, it helps me grow and feel good about myself.


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